Columbia  ^HniHersJitp 
in  ttje  Citp  of  iOteto  ^ovk 


LIBRARY 


GIVEN  BY 

^.   Alex:  rider  '"finbert 


A.,A>— 


QUENTIN    ROOSEVELT 


i'   "*  A  «''vv\    -'^-<.  o  «<A.«'*»^ 


■  -  <^c 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 

A  SKETCH   WITH    LETTERS 


EDITED    BY 

KERMIT   ROOSEVELT 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

1922 


t 


I'lS'^C 


Copyright,  1921,  bv 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


Published  October,  1921 

Reprinted  November,  twice  in  December,  1921; 

March,  1922 


"Only  those  are  fit  to  live  who  do  not  fear  to  die,  and 
none  are  fit  to  die  who  have  shrunk  from  the  joy  of 
Hfe  and  the  duty  of  hfe.  Both  hfe  and  death  are  parts 
of  the  same  Great  Adventure.  Never  yet  was  worthy 
adventure  worthily  carried  through  by  the  man  who 
put  his  personal  safety  first." 

Theodore  Roosevelt. 


FOREWORD 

Three  years  ago  to-day  Quentin  Roosevelt  fell 
in  France  in  an  aerial  combat  over  the  German 
lines.  He  was  buried  by  the  enemy  with  mili- 
tary honors  near  the  little  town  of  Chamery. 

Two  weeks  later  when  the  Soissons  salient  was 
wiped  out  the  Three  Hundred  and  Third  Engineers 
found  his  grave.  The  American  burial  service 
was  read  over  the  grave  and  the  Engineers  raised 
a  new  cross,  and  placed  a  shaft  to  mark  where 
the  airplane  had  fallen.  Quentin  Roosevelt  was 
not  yet  twenty -one  when  he  was  shot  down;  still 
years  count  for  but  little  in  the  record  of  a  life; 
one  man  at  twenty  may  have  accomplished  more 
and  leave  more  behind  to  mourn  his  loss  than 
another  who  saw  a  century  out.  Quentin  Roose- 
velt to  casual  acquaintances  typified  the  light- 
hearted  joie  de  vivre  (there  is  no  English  phrase 
[vii] 


FOREWORD 


that  can  quite  convey  the  meaning)  which  fresh- 
ened all  who  came  in  contact  with  it,  but  under- 
neath it  all  there  lay  the  stern  purpose  and  high 
resolve  of  one  who  realizes  the  essential  serious- 
ness of  life. 

K  R. 


July  14,  1921. 


[  viii  ] 


CONTENTS 


PAGB 


Foreword vii 

CHAFTEB 

I.    Before  the  War 1 


II,     The  Way  of  the  Eagle — 

PART       I.     TRYING   HIS   WINGS  ....  31 

PART     II.     TRAINING    FOR   COMBAT         .        .  122 

PART  III.     THE  FLIGHT 148 

III.  The  Last  Patrol 165 

IV.  Official  Judgment 198 

V.     "The  Judgment  of  His  Peers"  .      .     ;  211 

VI.    Verses 266 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Quentin  Roosevelt,  Mineola,  May,  1917  .  .  Frontispiece 


FACINO    PAGE 


Lieutenant  Quentin  Roosevelt  at  Field  Seven  in  His 

Beloved  "Dock  Yack"  Plane 98 

The  Grave  at  Chamery 17G 

Chamery 180 

Changed  to  Gold „     .  274 


CHAPTER  I 
BEFORE  THE  WAR 

QuENTiN  Roosevelt  was  born  in  Washington 
on  November  19,  1897,  six  months  before  his 
father  enlisted  for  the  war  to  free  Cuba.  As  a 
boy  he  attended  the  public  schools  in  Washington. 
The  last  year  of  his  father's  second  term  as  presi- 
dent he  went  to  the  Episcopal  High  School  at 
Alexandria,  Virginia. 

The  following  summer — that  of  1909 — he  spent 
in  Europe.  He  had  always  been  interested  in 
mechanics,  and  in  a  letter  to  Ambler  Blackford, 
a  son  of  the  principal  of  the  school,  he  tells  of  his 
first  sight  of  an  airplane. 

We  have  had  a  wonderful  time  here  and  seen 
lots.  We  were  at  Rheims  and  saw  all  the  aero- 
planes flying,  and  saw  Curtis  who  won  the  Gordon 
Bennett  cup  for  swiftest  flight.  You  don't  know 
how  pretty  it  was  to  see  all  the  aeroplanes  sailing 
at  a  time.     At  one  time  there  were  four  in  the 

[1] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


air.  It  was  the  prettiest  thing  I  ever  saw.  The 
prettiest  one  was  a  monoplane  called  the  An- 
toinette, which  looks  like  a  great  big  bird  in  the 
air.  It  does  not  wiggle  at  all  and  goes  very  fast. 
It  is  awfully  pretty  turning. 

Isn't  Notre  Dame  wonderful?  I  think  any- 
thing could  be  religious  in  it.  And  the  Louvre,  I 
think  it  would  take  at  least  a  year  to  see  it.  I 
have  some  of  the  pictures.  I  think  the  little 
Infanta  Margarita  by  Velazquez  is  the  cunningest 
thing  I  ever  saw,  and  I  think  they  are  all  very 
beautiful.  We  have  been  to  Rouen  and  every- 
where. 

Tell  S.  that  I  am  sending  him  a  model  of  an 
aeroplane  that  winds  up  with  a  rubber  band. 
They  work  quite  well.     I  have  one  which  can  fly 

a  hundred  yards,  and  goes  higher  than  my  head ! 

.J 

Much  love  to  all  from  ^ 

QUENTIN. 

That  autumn  on  his  return  to  this  country  he 
entered  Groton  School  as  a  first  former.  His 
bent  for  mechanics,  which  was  not  inherited,  and 

[2] 


BEFORE  THE  WAR 


his  love  of  reading,  which  was  inherited,  found 
expression  in  the  school  magazine.  Quentin  be- 
came an  editor  and  also  worked  as  typesetter  and 
general  overseer  in  the  more  practical  part  of 
publishing.  It  was  in  the  printing-room  that  he 
enjoyed  himself  most  when  at  Groton. 

In  January,  1915,  with  the  World  War  launched 
upon  its  first  winter,  he  wrote  the  following  story 
for  The  Grotonian: 

"ONE    MAN   WITH   A    DREAM" 

"The  train  stopped  with  a  jerk,  the  doors  flew 
open,  and  the  crowd  surged  out  toward  the  street. 
I  made  my  way  slowly  to  the  taxi  stand  and  hailed 
a  waiting  machine.  *4  West  fifty-seventh  street, 
and  make  it  fast,'  I  said.  The  man  glanced  at 
me  quickly,  hesitated,  and  then  said,  'Why  that's 
John  Amsden's  house,  isn't  it?' 

"'Yes,'  I  said,  'make  it  in  less  than  ten  minutes 
and  you  get  a  fiver.' 

"The  machine  started  to  the  street,  dove  around 
the  corner  into  thirty-fourth,  and  then  across. 
The  traffic  seemed  strangely  crowded: — we  barely 

[3] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


moved  behind  a  stream  of  street  cars  and  autos. 
Finally  came  Broadway  and  I  saw  the  reason. 
Herald  Square  was  packed  with  people, — a  tense, 
silent  crowd,  all  watching  the  bulletin  boards.  I 
strained  to  catch  a  glimpse  and  made  out,  under 
the  flaring  arc  lights,  *10.45 — Drs.  Waring  and 
McEwen  report  John  Amsden  is  doing  as  well  as 
can  be  expected.     He  is  partially  conscious.' 

"I  hammered  on  the  window  of  the  taxi  stand, 
as  the  man  turned,  cried  to  him  to  hurry.  The 
traffic  was  still  blocked,  however,  and  we  were 
hemmed  in.  I  looked  at  the  board  again.  An- 
other notice  was  being  rolled  up.  '11 — Condition 
slightly  improved.'  Strained  faces  in  the  crowd 
relaxed.  I  could  see  one  man  turning  to  another 
and  clapping  him  on  the  back,  a  smile  of  relief  on 
his  face.  So  that  was  the  reason.  That  was  why 
I  had  received  the  telegram,  *John  needs  you. 
Come  at  once.' 

"The  traffic  began  to  move,  and  soon  we  were 
racing  up  Fifth  Avenue,  42nd,  48th,  St.  Patrick's 
Cathedral, — at  last  57th.  Two  policemen  guarded 
the  entrance  of  the  street.     I  was  evidently  ex- 

[4] 


BEFORE  THE   WAR 


pected,  for  they  let  me  through  with  a  glance  at 
my  card. 

"  The  door  was  open,  and  I  went  into  the  familiar 
hallway  with  its  carved  oak  stairs.  The  contrast 
was  startling.  Outside  the  crowded  streets; — 
inside,  dead  silence.  I  went  upstairs.  Low 
voices  came  from  the  back  of  the  house.  Some- 
one inside  was  speaking: — *It  must  have  been 
that  speech  in  Union  Square  that  did  it.  The 
Doctors  say  it  is  pneumonia.  His  system  is  so 
overworked  that  he  can't  fight  the  disease.' 

"Another  man  spoke  up,  *  Something  had  to 
crack.  No  man  can  work  at  fever  heat  for  weeks 
on  end.' 

"I  pushed  open  the  door  and  entered.  Three 
men  were  seated  before  the  fire,  all  of  them  men 
whom  I  knew.  My  cousin  Arthur,  who  was  a 
reporter  on  the  Globe,  Charles  Wright,  the  actor, 
and  Pearson,  the  critic.  Arthur  sprang  to  his 
feet  as  I  entered.  *I'm  afraid  its  too  late.  Cousin 
Fred,'  he  said,  'the  Doctors  have  given  orders 
that  no  one  is  to  see  him.' 

"  Hopeless,  I  sat  down.  Why  had  I  gone  away  ? 
[5] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


I  might  have  known  something  would  happen  to 
him. 

"*Tell  me,*  I  said. 

"'There's  not  much  to  tell,'  said  Pearson.  *He 
would  speak  at  that  mass  meeting  in  Union  Square 
Friday.  It  was  drizzling  a  little  and  he  caught 
a  chill.  That  and  overwork  brought  on  pneu- 
monia.    That's  about  all.* 

"We  lapsed  into  silence,  each  thinking  of  the 
man  above  who  was  fighting  for  breath.  The 
fire  flickered,  and  then  died  out.  Arthur  spoke 
up: 

"'You  were  with  him.     Tell  us  about  it/ 

"*It  was  like  a  dream,'  I  said,  *A  dream  come 
true. 

"'John  Amsden  and  I  roomed  together  at 
college.  I  think  that  was  the  beginning  of  our 
friendship.  He  never  did  much  there,  that  is, 
in  any  serious  way.  He  worked  a  little,  went  to 
every  dance  in  or  out  of  Boston,  and  that  was 
about  all.  He  had  not  the  physique  for  an 
athlete,  and  though  he  had  several  things  published 
in  the  Advocate,  he  gradually  let  it  drop,  and  never 

[6] 


BEFORE   THE   WAR 


tried  for  editor.  He  did  not  have  to  work  for  a 
living,  for  liis  father's  millions  were  waiting  for 
him  so  there  was  no  incentive.  People  said  that 
he  had  lost  what  little  capacity  he  had  ever  had 
for  work  while  in  college. 

"  'After  college  he  led  the  life  that  all  those  lead 
who  belong  to  the  class  reformers  and  Socialists 
call  the  idle  rich.  His  winters  were  spent  in  Aiken 
or  Palm  Beach;  his  summers  in  Europe,  with 
interludes  of  Meadowbrook  and  Tuxedo.  I  doubt 
if  he  ever  did  anything  more  than  this  for  twelve 
years.  Even  his  friends,  who  always  claimed  that 
he  would  some  day  develop,  gave  up  hope.  He 
seemed  to  have  arrived  at  the  end  of  his  develop- 
ment. 

" '  Last  summer  we  arranged  to  go  abroad  to- 
gether for  a  bicycle  trip  through  Holland  and 
Belgium.  That  was  in  July.  August  found  us  in 
Belgium,  travelling  slowly  from  place  to  place. 
To  make  a  long  story  short,  we  were  caught  in  the 
whirlwind  of  the  war.  We  saw  the  fall  of  Liege 
and  we  followed  in  the  track  of  the  invader  as  he 
tramped  through  Belgium.     We  saw  towns  lev- 

[7] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


elled,  cathedrals  shelled,  smelt  the  smell  of  the 
battle-field,  saw  the  fleeing  people,  homes  burned, 
husbands  and  fathers  gone,  the  soldier  dead,  his 
rifle  in  his  hand,  the  priest  with  his  crucifix, — we 
saw  it  all. 

** '  To  John  it  was  a  revelation.  He  had  never 
before  felt  the  horror  of  death,  never  seen  the 
human  soul  apart  from  its  polished  covering. 
What  death  he  had  seen  had  been  decorous, 
honored,  attended  with  peace  and  quiet.  He  had 
barely  realized  the  fact  that  suffering  existed, — 
that  the  horrors  of  war  were  any  more  than  a 
novelist's  term. 

"*  Following  in  War's  path  had  brought  it  all 
home  to  him  with  an  appalling  nearness.  All  the 
sorrows  he  had  never  known,  all  the  emotions  he 
had  never  felt, — ^he  went  through  it  all,  saw  the 
feelings  of  people,  not  mirrored  in  a  book  or  ve- 
neered by  etiquette,  but  sharp,  bitter,  unconquera- 
ble. In  him  it  brought  out  all  the  character  that 
had  lain  hid.  All  the  crusader  spirit  of  his  ances- 
tors came  to  the  top.  He  was  fired  with  it.  In 
his  reaction  he  thought  of  his  former  life  almost 
with  loathing.     It  seemed  to  him  almost  unbe- 

[8] 


BEFORE  THE  WAR 


lievable  that  America  could  be  callous  to  the 
suffering,  to  the  horror  of  what  he  saw  before  his 
very  eyes.  He  felt  he  was  chosen,  that  it  was 
his  duty  to  tell  of  Belgium. 

" '  He  decided  quite  suddenly.  "I'm  going  back, 
Fred,"  he  said,  "to  tell  the  people  at  home  about 
this.     They  must  understand,  they  must  help." 

" '  We  made  our  way  to  the  coast,  as  best  we 
could,  and  at  last  got  a  steamer  for  America.  On 
our  voyage  we  talked  of  the  people  at  home  often. 
It  never  occurred  to  him  that  people  would  not 
understand,  that  they  would  not  see  as  he  did. 
He  could  not  conceive  of  anyone  remaining  un- 
moved in  the  face  of  suffering  such  as  we  had  seen. 

"  'We  parted  at  the  dock.  The  next  day,  as  I 
sat  at  home,  the  telephone  rang.  It  was  John. 
"Fred,"  he  said,  "I  must  have  a  talk  with  you.'* 

"'We  agreed,  finally,  that  I  was  to  come  over 
and  see  him. 

"'He  was  sitting  in  this  room  before  the  fire, 
as  we  are  now,  when  I  came  in.  In  all  my  life 
I  have  never  seen  a  look  of  utter  hopelessness 
such  as  there  was  on  his  face.  "It's  all  wrong," 
he  said,  "they  don't  see.     I  can't  understand  it.'* 

[9] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


"'He  told  me  then,  how  he  had  been  to  his 
friends,  had  spoken  to  them,  and  the  effect  of 
his  words.  "They  wouldn't  even  listen  to  me. 
They  wouldn't  even  listen !  I  tried  to  tell  about 
it  all  but  they  cut  me  short.  Harry  Wilding 
wanted  to  tell  me  about  the  baseball  the  Giants 
were  playing.  Schuyler  had  a  scheme  he  wanted 
me  to  finance, — to  charter  a  steamer  and  send 
over  a  cargo  of  silk  socks  to  Belgium.  Said  it 
was  a  great  opportunity  now  that  the  German 
market  was  closed."  He  laughed,  dully,  and, 
pulling  aside  the  shade  pointed  out  the  window. 

" ' "There,"  he  said,  " there  it  is.  That  is  the 
explanation.  That  is  the  American  spirit;  Ameri- 
ca's countersign;   her  God." 

"'I  looked.  A  huge  sign  showed  in  electric  lights: 

THE  NEW  NATIONAL  MAGAZINE 

James  Fried's  article  on  What  There  is  in  the 
War  for  the  U.  S.  A. 

"'"Yes,"  said  John,  bitterly,  "that  is  the  acid 
test   of  the   'Great  American  Nation's'  feelings. 
What  do  we  get  out  of  it  ? " 
[10] 


BEFORE  THE  WAR 


"'He  gazed  into  the  depths  of  the  fire,  and  I 
watched  the  shadows  come  and  go  on  his  face. 
Suddenly  his  expression  changed,  and  his  eyes 
sparlded  with  the  Hght  of  battle.  "I  have  it," 
he  cried,  "I  shall  write  the  play  of  the  war.  I  shall 
bring  war  home  to  the  people  as  it  has  never  been 
brought  before.     I  shall  challenge  the  nation. " 

" '  That  was  the  beginning  of  his  great  play.  He 
worked  feverishly,  at  high  pressure, — writing  far 
into  the  night. 

"'In  three  weeks  it  was  done.  I  remember 
the  joy  on  his  face  as  he  came  to  the  door.  "It's 
done,  Fred,"  he  said. 

'"He  would  not  let  me  read  it,  though  I  begged 
him  to.  The  first  night,  so  he  said,  was  the  test. 
He  wanted  me  to  see  it  then  for  the  first  time,  and 
so  I  waited.  As  you  know,  Eisenstein  agreed, 
after  the  first  reading,  to  put  it  on  as  soon  a 
company  could  be  got  together. 

'"Then,  at  last,  came  the  first  night.  All  New 
York  seemed  to  be  there.  It  had  been  wonderfully 
advertised.  All  over  the  city,  great  placards  with 
the  name,  WAR,  in  red,  and  then  John  Amsden, 

[11] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


underneath.     I  had  to  fight  my  way, — but  you 
were  there — ^you  remember.' 

"Pearson  nodded. 

"'You  remember  how  it  was  received.  Not  a 
sound  from  the  whole  packed  house.  Not  a  clap, 
not  a  cheer,  not  even  the  shuffling  that  a  crowd  of 
people  generally  make.  It  was  a  tense,  uplifted 
audience.  A  woman  in  front  of  me  was  crying  as 
the  curtain  fell,  and  the  crowd  filed  out  silently. 
No  one  was  discussing  the  play  in  the  lobby 
when  I  came  out.  It  was  too  great,  beyond  un- 
thinking praise.  Men  went  home  and  thought 
over  it. 

" '  By  morning  it  was  famous.  In  every  paper  it 
appeared  on  the  front  page.  Critics  called  it  a 
sermon  of  the  stage. 

"'That  was  four  weeks  ago.  Since  then  the 
presses  have  been  running  to  capacity  printing  it, 
it  has  been  played  all  over  the  country.  People 
have  telegraphed  him  by  the  thousand,  asking 
him  to  speak.  He  has  been  hailed  as  another 
prophet  who  should  preach  of  America's  duty 
in  this  war. 

[12] 


BEFORE  THE  WAR 


" '  He  was  asked  to  speak  at  Union  Square  before 
I  left.     You  know  the  rest — / 

"I  stopped,  and  we  sat  in  silence  for  a  while, 
each  busied  with  his  own  thoughts.  The  clock 
in  the  Metropolitan  tower  began  to  chime.  I 
looked  out  the  window  onto  the  quiet  street. 
Across  was  Broadway,  with  its  lights,  its  passing 
crowds.  I  could  just  see  the  top  of  the  huge  sign 
at  Columbus  Circle:— 'CHARLES  WRIGHT  in 
WAR'.  I  thought  of  the  great  crowd  gathered 
at  Herald  Square.  The  clock  struck  the  hour,- 
ten-eleven-twelve. 

"The  deep  boom  died  away.  There  was  a 
noise  of  footsteps  on  the  stairs.  It  was  the 
Doctor.  We  sprang  to  our  feet.  *How  is  he; 
Doctor?'  said  Arthur;  his  voice  sounding  cracked 
and  strained. 

"The  Doctor  looked  at  us,  his  face  worn  and 
white  and  lined,  and  shook  his  head  slowly.  He 
turned  and  went  out  without  a  word. 

"'Oh,  it  can't  be  true,'  cried  Arthur.  *  There 
must  be  something  wrong.     Why  should  he  die.''' 

"'It  can't  be  helped,  boy'  said  Pearson,  'It  was 
[13] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


fate.     God's  plans  seem  mysterious  to  our  cramped 
view.'     He  quoted  softly: 

"'One  man  with  a  dream,  at  pleasure 

Shall  go  forth  and  conquer  a  crown.' " 

Quentin  had  a  remarkable  gift  for  descriptive 
writing,  and  particularly  delighted  in  short 
sketches,  usually  with  the  element  of  fantastic 
mysticism  predominant.  The  two  brief  stories 
following  were  written  while  he  was  serving  in 
France. 

"IN  LINE  OF  DUTY" 

"The  service  pistol  is  a  merciless  thing. 

"Up  there  above  my  desk  it  hangs,  between 
Hilda's  picture  and  the  instrument  board,  always 
loaded,  always  ready.  Yes;  always  ready,  always 
loaded;  thats  the  watchword  of  our  service, — 
even  now  as  we  lie  idly  awash,  charging  our  bat- 
teries. Its  pleasanter  this  way,  tho,  with  the 
fresh  air  cleaning  off  the  fumes  of  the  last  nights 
run.  And  then,  when  you're  on  the  surface,  there 
aren't  so  many  noises,  or  at  least  I  know  them  all. 

[14] 


BEFORE  THE  WAR 


Sometimes  when  we  are  submerged  I  hear  sounds, 
— ones  that  I  cant  account  for,  I  swear  they're 
only  imagination,  tho'.  You  can  almost  hear 
them  now;  the  soft  deadened  whisper  of  stumpy 
fingers  groping  and  pawing  at  the  edges  of  our 
plates.  Its  all  foolishness,  all  foolishness !  Here 
I  am,  the  senior  commander  of  the  imperial  sub- 
marine service,  with  a  record  that  even  an  ad- 
miral might  envj%  worrying  like  any  child  over 
noises  that  dont  exist, — mere  imagination. 

"Kuhlman  is  responsible.  He  was  mad  and  I 
should  have  put  him  in  irons.  I  remember  when 
first  he  came  aboard.  The  old  admiral  was  there, 
and  said  to  me,  'Take  him  and  make  a  man  of 
him.'  So  I  gave  him  responsibility,  put  him  in 
charge  of  the  forward  tubes.  Off  the  coast  of 
Ireland  we  were,  and  sure  of  work  before  long. 

"We  got  it,  too, — a  big  boat,  one  of  their  crack 
liners.  I  was  sorry  we  had  to  do  it,  for  there 
were  many  women  and  children  among  her  pas- 
sengers, but  what  else  could  I  do  ?  She  had  been 
warned;    and  in  war  there  is  no  pity. 

"I  let  young  Kuhlman  have  the  shot,  and  then, 
[15] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


as  there  was  no  convoy  and  no  guns,  we  rose  to 
watch  the  effect.  It  is  very  sudden  death,  a 
torpedo.  One  moment  you  are  but  two  days 
from  port;  the  next  the  boats  are  manned  and 
the  band  plays  as  she  sinks.  It  was  a  bad  night, 
and  there  were  many  of  the  boats  that  they  could 
not  launch.  She  sank  very  quickly,  and  we  sub- 
merged again,  for  it  was  too  rough  for  us, — and 
so  we  lay  for  two  days  while  the  storm  went  on 
above.  Then  it  blew  itself  out,  and  luckily  too, 
for  two  days  below  are  hard  on  the  nerves.  Kuhl- 
man  felt  it  most,  for  he  had  never  before  seen 
death,  and  the  sight  of  that  ship  sinking  from  the 
torpedo  that  he  had  fired,  had  been  too  much 
for  him.  So  we  came  up,  and  were  lying  on  the 
surface,  just  as  we  are  now,  while  we  officers 
smoked  upon  deck.  After  two  days  like  that, 
the  air  seems  very  sweet,  and  it  is  good  to  live 
again,  and  cease  to  be  a  machine.  Only  as  we 
stood  there  something  came  drifting  down  upon 
us, — something  white  that  glinted  in  the  sunlight. 
It  was  quite  close  before  I  saw  what  it  was, — 
too  close.     Somehow  the  current  caught  it  and 

[16] 


BEFORE  THE  WAR 


brought  it  alongside,  and  it  seemed  to  stick  to 
us  in  the  little  wash  that  lapped  our  sides.  All 
the  flesh  was  gone  from  the  head, — the  fish  had 
been  at  it, — and  the  bare  skull  shone  like  polished 
ivory  as  it  bobbed  up  and  down  and  the  water 
washed  in  and  out  of  the  empty  eyes.  It  had 
been  a  common  sailor  off  the  ship  we  had  sunk 
two  days  before,  and  across  the  chest  of  the  suit 
you  could  see  the  letters  *Cunard  Line.'  It 
drifted  on,  but  with  it  went  all  the  life  of  the  air, 
and  I  ordered  the  men  below. 

"It  umst  have  been  that  that  started  Kuhl- 
man.  I  had  grown  quite  attached  to  him,  for  he 
seemed  only  a  boy,  for  all  of  his  moustaches.  And 
yet,  at  first,  even  I  did  not  notice  any  change. 
Then  he  took  to  coming  in  and  sitting  talking  to 
me  in  my  room,  and  I  began  to  wonder.  He  said 
he  liked  the  company.  Only,  as  I  found  out,  the 
real  reason  was  that  he  was  afraid  to  be  alone. 
Later  he  told  me  about  it.  In  the  beginning  it 
used  only  to  bother  him  at  night  when  the  lights 
were  out.  Then,  as  he  lay  in  bed,  they  would 
begin.  He  would  hear  them  outside  in  the  water, 
[17] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


talking  to  one  another,  in  dead  voiceless  words, 
the  salt  water  in  their  mouths.  And  always 
their  talk  was  of  him.  'He  fired  the  torpedo,* 
they  seemed  to  say,  and  then  he  would  hear  the 
fumbling  of  soft,  sodden  fingers  tearing  at  the 
rivets.  Later  he  began  to  see  faces,  dreadful, 
greenish,  water  logged  ones,  long  strings  of  sea 
weed  in  their  hair.  And  worst  of  all  they  were 
all  faces  he  knew,  friends  and  family  at  home, 
that  stared  at  him  with  blind  dead  resentment. 
They  became  worse  and  more  insistent,  and  he 
began  to  go  round  with  his  eyes  fixed  in  front  of 
him,  for  he  said  they  watched  him  from  the  cor- 
ners. He  slept  with  his  lights  turned  on.  I  did 
my  best  to  talk  him  out  of  it,  but  I  knew  that  we 
would  soon  lay  up  for  our  month  in  port,  and  I 
thought  that  would  cure  him.  Then  we  put  in 
to  take  on  oil  for  our  last  two  weeks,  and  they 
gave  me  a  bundle  of  papers.  Kuhlman  was  in 
my  room  at  the  time,  and  I  tossed  them  to  him 
to  read,  for  I  thought  it  might  cheer  him.  I  was 
busy  myself,  looking  over  my  new  orders,  and 
the  reports  from  other  commanders.  Over  my 
[18] 


BEFORE   THE   WAR 


shoulder  I  called  to  him  some  question  about  the 
news.  There  was  no  answer,  and  after  a  bit  I 
turned  around  to  look  at  him.  He  was  sitting, 
the  paper  spread  before  him  on  the  desk,  and  as 
I  looked,  he  got  up  and  fumbled  for  the  door 
handle.  His  face  was  dead  white,  and  on  it  the 
look  of  one  who  has  seen  something  very  terrible, 
— something  more  than  one  should  see.  I  stood 
for  a  moment  doing  nothing,  for  the  look  on  his 
face  had  driven  all  thoughts  from  my  head  and 
then,  stupidly,  I  looked  to  the  paper  for  the  ex- 
planation. There  was  little  enough  in  it, — politics, 
the  war,  a  new  invention,  and  at  the  top  of  the 
page  the  pictures  of  some  people,  a  family  I 
judged,  with  father,  mother,  and  a  sweet-faced 
girl  of  about  twenty.  I  looked  closer,  and  saw 
under  the  pictures,  'drowned  in  the  Caronia  dis- 
aster.' Even  then  I  could  not  see  the  reason  for 
that  look  in  his  face.  Orders  were  orders,  and 
he'd  have  to  learn  that  in  war  people  were  killed, 
and  not  always  the  guilty, — and  it  was  all  part 
of  the  game.  Suddenly  there  was  the  roar  of  a 
shot.  I  was  in  his  room  before  the  echoes  died 
[19] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


along  the  iron  walls,  but  of  course  it  was  too  late. 

"He  lay  bent  over  his  desk,  the  pistol  still 
clutched  in  his  hands.  Then,  at  last,  I  saw  the 
reason.  In  a  little  gold  frame  before  him  was  a 
girl's  picture,  the  same  that  I  had  just  seen  in 
the  paper,  now  blotched  with  his  blood,  he  had 
written  in  his  round,  boyish  hand, — 'Ah,  dearest; 
mea  magna  culpa.' 

"A  bad,  bad  business  it  was.  The  bullet  at 
that  range,  had  torn  his  face  terribly,  and  yet 
somehow  I  was  relieved,  glad  almost.  I  am  sure 
that  his  eyes  would  have  been, — not  nice. 

"That  was  a  month  ago  and  I  am  still  at  sea. 
I  thought  when  I  got  back  after  that  run  I  would 
ask  for  a  rest, — I  had  begun  myself  to  hear  things 
that  were  not  of  the  ship.  But  once  in  port,  they 
told  me  I  was  chosen  to  take  this,  our  newest, 
on  her  maiden  run.  What  could  I  do?  It  was 
an  honor  they  offered  me.  All  the  same,  I  wish 
the  captain's  quarters  were  not  like  those  on  my 
old  ship.  When  I  came  in,  and  saw  the  bare  iron 
walls  just  as  before,  with  that  grim  pistol  in  its 
clips  by  the  instrument  board,  I  seemed  to  see 
[20,] 


BEFORE  THE  WAR 


him  again.  And  now,  three  weeks  out,  it  is  grow- 
ing worse.  I  dare  not  turn  the  lights  out,  for  if 
I  do,  instead  of  the  luminous  dials  of  my  instru- 
ment board  I  see  only  his  poor  shattered  head, 
with  great  eyes  that  call  me. 

"Perhaps  he  was  right,  after  all.  The  service 
pistol  is  a  merciful  thing." 

"THE  GREATEST  GIFT" 

"  'Wliat  is  the  greatest  blessing'  I  mused,  as 
I  sat  at  my  window.  And  the  warm  breath  of 
spring,  sweet  with  the  scent  of  flowers  and  green 
things  growing  whispered  softly  'Life.  Life  is 
the  greatest  gift.  To  live  and  feel  no  fear  lest 
the  grim  hand  that  stays  not  smite.  What  higher 
hn.ve  the  gods  to  give?' 

"In  my  heart  youth  cried  assent,  and  full  of 
the  horror  of  that  gray  and  merciless  one  who 
spares  no  man,  I  went  forth  into  the  crowded 
ways.  Everywhere  was  life,  and  the  beauty  of 
things  living.  As  pleasant  music  to  my  ears  were 
the  cries  of  children  and  all  the  many  voices  of 
[21] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


the  street.  Death  seemed  but  some  foul  vampire 
that  lay  in  gloating  cruelty  waiting  to  take  all 
from  me. 

"I  wandered  whither  my  feet  led  me,  careless 
of  all  save  my  thoughts  until  I  came  on  a  street 
to  me  unknown,  a  dark  street  heavy  with  the 
dust  of  centuries.  Grey  lichens  clung  about  the 
houses'  eaves,  and  in  the  shapeless  wind-worn 
carvings.  No  children  played  upon  the  steps  and 
on  the  cobbled  pavement  no  traffic  passed.  The 
roar  of  the  world  without  was  lost,  for  sound  it- 
self seemed  choked  with  age,  and  my  footfall 
waked  echoes  long  dead  that  fled  wailing  past 
the  sombre  houses  and  died  among  the  wind  worn 
tiles.  One  door  alone  stood  open,  mysterious, 
beckoning,  and  thru  it  I  passed  as  one  who  enters 
in  a  dream,  a  place  familiar,  yet  of  the  dream.  All 
within  lay  shrouded  in  gloom  save  for  a  little 
glow  ahead,  and  toward  its  soft  crimson  I  went, 
my  hands  against  the  velvet  arras.  And  now  I  saw 
whence  the  light  came.  A  ball  of  crystal  in  whose 
clouded  heart  the  crimson  light  rose  and  fell  with 
steady  beat  lay  between  the  paws  of  an  ebony 

[22] 


BEFORE  THE  WAR 


sphinx,  that  crouched  before  a  tall  chair  of  ebony. 
In  the  light  lay  mystery,  and  the  very  air  was 
heavy  with  the  secret  of  old  forgotten  dreams. 

"The  scent  of  spice  and  sandalwood,  of  incense 
and  of  myrrh.  I  stood  in  silence  and  past  me 
went  my  thoughts,  that  drifted  in  a  sea  of  memo- 
ries dim  and  griefs  long  past.  But  in  on  them 
came  a  voice,  deep  and  clear,  yet  a  part  of  the 
silence,  that  said:  'WTiat  do  you  in  the  memories 
of  the  past,  whose  heart  is  with  the  present,  to 
whom  life  and  all  that  lies  before  alone  are  fair.'*' 

"With  slow  steps  muffled  in  the  crimson  car- 
pet I  went  into  the  circle  of  warm,  glowing  light 
and  was  aware  of  one  who  sat  buried  in  the  great 
chair.  Face  and  hand  alone  were  visible,  for  the 
velvet  gown  merged  indefinitely  into  the  ebony 
of  the  chair.  One  hand  showed,  yellow  and 
shrivelled  with  age,  while  ridged  tendons  like 
twisted  wires  stretched  to  long  fingers  tipped 
with  yellow  and  pointed  nails.  On  the  face,  too, 
lay  the  mark  of  ages,  for  over  the  skull  the  skin 
stretched  ^Tinkled  and  creased  like  an  ancient 
parchment.  Deep  sunk  in  their  sockets  glowed 
[23] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


eyes  that  held  me  and  searched  my  soul.  There  was 
in  them  age,  to  which  to  the  end  of  time  we  were 
young;  tragic  age,  the  bitter  sorrow  of  ten  thou- 
sand years;  sorrow  such  as  had  the  dead  eyes  of 
(Edipus.  As  I  looked  in  them  all  fear  left  me, — 
and  only  an  awe  and  a  pity  too  deep  for  words 
remained.  Yet  when  I  spoke  it  was  as  a  child 
that  answers,  and  yet  is  intent  on  the  question 
it  would  ask  before  even  it  speaks.  'Why  should 
not  I  dwell  in  memories  past,  to  enjoy  the  more 
what  Life  may  hold.^^' 

"He  spoke  again,  and  his  voice  was  as  a  hand 
held  out  to  one  that  gropes  in  darkness:  'May 
not  life  then  rise  above  itself — has  it  no  higher 
to  offer  than  its  little  span,  and  must  death  ever 
lie,  a  secret  terror,  black  upon  the  mind.'*  Is 
death  a  penalty  that  the  Gods  exact  of  a  man 
whether  evil  or  fair  has  been  his  lot?  Through 
my  crystal  must  all  mortals  pass  when  the  fires 
of  life  are  flickering  low; — look  now,  in  your  ig- 
norance, upon  the  face  of  Death.' 

"I  looked  at  the  crystal,  and  deep  in  its  heart 
saw  pictures  that  came  and  went  as  the  light 
[U] 


BEFORE   THE   WAR 


rose  and  fell.  Each  seemed  to  tell  a  tale  familiar, 
tho'  the  time  was  short  and  the  faces  strange. 

"An  old  man  lay  dying,  his  children  round  him, 
on  his  face  peace,  and  the  happiness  of  one  whose 
life  is  well  spent,  who  after  the  long  day's  toil 
waits  gladly  for  the  end. 

"The  crystal  blurred  and  another  scene  was 
there.  A  woman  lay  dying,  but  none  were  there 
to  watch  save  desolation  and  utter  loneliness,  for 
she  had  lived  beyond  her  time,  all  that  might 
have  cared  were  dead,  and  on  her  face  shone  only 
a  great  relief. 

"Many  pictures  I  saw,  and  where  the  dying 
were  young,  I  saw  the  struggle  against  death. 
Yet  Youth  did  not  fear  death, — rather  they  feared 
to  lose  life,  its  cup  still  full.  Where  age  lay  dying 
was  no  struggle — only  rest  after  the  fever  and 
fret  of  life.  At  length  I  turned  to  him  who  sat 
silent  in  the  great  chair,  and  asked  humbly:  'What 
of  you — will  not  you,  too,  pass  in  the  crystal's 
crimson  mist?'  'I,'  he  cried  bitterly,  and  his 
voice  swelled  till  its  deep  grief  filled  the  velvet 
hung  chamber  with  tragedy  unspeakable,  *I  have 

[25] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


sinned  too  deeply,  I  may  not  die.  Of  the  Gods 
I  asked  too  much.  I  wished  for  all  that  was  theirs 
to  give, — for  life  eternal.  They  gave  it  me  and 
now  is  their  gift  as  gall  and  bitter  wormwood  to 
my  soul.  All  that  I  ever  loved  or  knew  is  dead 
for  thrice  a  thousand  years.  Alone  I  go  down 
the  endless  ages.  Aye,  the  very  gods  have 
changed.  Moloch  and  Ishtar,  Zeus  the  Thunder, 
Jove  to  whom  prayed  the  Romans,  and  Jehovah 
of  the  Hebrews — all  are  gone  and  forgotten  of 
man.  Their  temples  are  ruins,  their  priests  are 
dead,  and  still  I  live  on;  I  who  have  lost  all  that 
for  which  men  live.  O,  blind  and  more  than  blind, 
who  would  forever  be  free  from  death;  death  for 
whose  kindly  touch  in  years  to  come  you  pray. 
Of  what  value  is  immortality  when  all  that  makes 
our  little  lives  is  mortal.' 

"He  ceased,  but  the  memory  of  his  words 
throbbed  in  dumb  agony  round  the  arras,  nor 
did  it  die,  as  mortal  speech  is  wont.  Into  the 
depths  of  me  it  sank,  and  I  fled  from  his  presence. 
Death,  whom  I  had  cursed,  seemed  now  a  kindly 
friend,  who,  when  we  tire  of  our  toys,  and  all  our 

[26] 


BEFORE  THE  WAR 


litlle  mortal  playthings  are  faded  and  broken, 
comes  soft-handed  to  heal  all  with  his  dreamless 
quiet. 

"And  within  me  my  soul  cried  out:  *Yes.  Ah, 
yes !  Death,  death  and  oblivion  are  God's  great- 
est gifts.'  " 

In  the  fall  of  1915  Quentin  went  to  Harvard. 
He  was  unable  to  take  part  in  athletics  because  of 
a  fall  he  had  had  in  a  hunting  trip  in  Arizona. 
His  horse  had  slipped  among  the  slide  rock,  and 
Quentin's  back  was  wrenched  and  twisted  so 
severely  that  in  spite  of  constant  treatment  it 
never  fully  recovered.  He  sufiFered  acute  pain 
from  it  when  he  took  any  strenuous  form  of  ex- 
ercise. 

Bubbling  over  with  life,  he  entered  into  every 
other  phase  of  college  life.  His  taste  for  litera- 
ture was  almost  as  catholic  as  his  father's,  and 
his  room  was  strewn  with  volumes  of  prose  and 
poetry — histories,  essays,  novels,  detective  stories, 
and  epic  poems.  At  one  time  he  was  greatly  in- 
terested in  demonology  and  witchcraft,  and 
[27]  "■ 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


combed   the   second-hand   bookstores   for   grimy 
tomes  on  this  subject. 

Intent  on  following  his  line  of  mathematics  and 
mechanics,  he  took  many  difficult  courses,  but  his 
trials  were  leavened  with  a  sense  of  humor  that 
could  not  be  downed. 

27  Everett  St. 

Cambridge,  Mas.j. 
February  14,  1916 

To  "  The  Father  of  Quentin  Roosevelt" 
Oyster  Bay,  N.  Y. 

Dear  Sir: — The  enclosed  verses  were  written 
by  your  son  Quentin  at  the  end  of  his  blue  book 
in  the  Midyear  examination  in  my  course.  Mathe- 
matics A,  a  few  days  ago.  They  strike  me  as  so 
capital  that  I  want  to  pass  them  along. 

On  account  of  his  illness  the  boy  did  not  do 
very  well  in  the  first  half  year,  but  I  think  he 
knows  what  he  is  about,  and  have  good  hopes  for 
a  better  showing  at  the  end  of  the  course. 

Hoping  that  you  will  enjoy  these  verses  as 
much  as  I  do  (he  would  probably  regard  my 
[28  1 


BEFORE  THE  WAR 


sending  them  to  you  as  a  gross  breach  of  con- 
fidence!) I  am       ^r         .  1 

Very  smcerely  yours 

Edward  V.  Huntington 
Associate  Professor  of  Mathematics 
in  Harvard  University. 

ODE  TO  A  MATH  A.  EXAM. 

"If  it  be  not  fair  to  me, 
What  care  I  how  fair  it  be?" 

I. 

How  can  I  work  when  my  brain  is  whirHng  ? 
What  can  I  do  if  I've  got  the  grippe  ? 
Why  make  a  bluff  at  a  knowledge  that's  lacking  ? 
What  is  the  use  if  I  don't  give  a  rip  ? 

II. 

Cosine  and  tangent,  cotangent,  abscissa. 

Dance  like  dry  leaves  through  my  sneeze-shattered 

head. 
Square  root  of  a^  plus  b^  plus  k^ 
Gibber  and  grin  in  the  questions  I've  read. 

III. 

Self  centred  circles  and  polar  coordinates. 
Triangles  twisted  and  octagons  wild, 

[29] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


Loci  whose  weirdness  defies  all  description, 
Mountains  of  zeros  all  carefully  piled. 

IV. 

Still  I  plod  on  in  a  dull  desperation, 
Head  aching  dismally,  ready  to  sip 
Goblets  of  strychnine  or  morphine  or  vitriol. 
How  can  I  work  when  I've  got  the  grippe  ? 

He  made  two  trips,  during  the  summer  holidays, 
in  the  West — one  with  his  father  and  his  brother 
Archie,  and  one  with  some  Western  friends. 

When  at  home  his  taste  still  ran  to  mechanics, 
and  he  would  buy  a  broken-down  motorcycle  for 
sixteen  dollars,  or  a  ramshackle  automobile  for 
fifty,  and  doctor  his  purchase  up  until  it  could 
convey  him  from  place  to  place,  albeit  with  some 
uncertainty.  His  parents  once  suggested  that  he 
and  Archie  should  be  given  a  communal  automo- 
bile, but  the  latter  explained  that  it  would  be 
quite  useless,  for  he  would  want  the  car  to  run 
and  take  him  from  place  to  place,  whereas  Quen- 
tin  would  spend  all  the  time  taking  the  motor 
down  and  putting  it  together  again. 

[30] 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

PART   I — TRYING   HIS   WINGS 

In  spite  of  his  crippled  back  Quentin  went  to 
one  of  the  Plattsburg  camps  the  summer  before 
the  United  States  entered  the  war.  Through  the 
employment  of  unlimited  determination  and  grit 
and  the  understanding  consideration  of  his  su- 
periors he  managed  to  last  through  the  course. 

In  his  letters  he  spoke  bitterly  of  the  attitude  of 

the  administration: 

February  1917. 

I  just  got  a  very  discouraged  letter  from  my 
Hon.  Pa.  We  are  a  pretty  sordid  lot,  aren't  we, 
to  want  to  sit  looking  on  while  England  and  France 
fight  our  battles  and  pan  gold  into  our  pockets? 
I  wondered,  as  I  sat  by  my  fire,  whether  there  are 
any  dreams  in  our  land  any  more.  How  can  there 
be,  for  it  is  lands  like  ours,  and  Germany,  that 
[31] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


kill  the  nation's  dreams,  and  then  the  people  drop 
into  oblivion.  Rome  died  only  when  the  little 
dreams  and  fancies  of  its  people  gave  way  to  their 
lust  for  ease  and  pleasure,  power  and  gold.  I 
wonder  if  we  are  trending  the  same  way — 

•  ••••••• 

When  war  was  declared  all  four  sons  turned  to 
their,  father  for  advice  and  assistance  in  regard  to 
the  most  rapid  manner  to  get  into  active  service. 
Quentin  first  planned  to  join  the  Canadian  flying 
forces,  but  upon  confirmation  of  the  rumor  that 
an  American  flying  school  was  to  be  started  im- 
mediately he  decided  that  he  would  not  materially 
speed  up  his  entrance  into  active  service  by  going 
to  Canada,  and  accordingly  altered  his  plans  and 
enlisted  for  the  Mineola  camp. 

April,  1917. 
Excuse  this  scrawl,  scribbled  on  the  train, — 
there's  a  reason  !     Wild  excitement !     I  have  been 
put  in  the  aviation  school  at  Mineola  instead  of 
the  one  at  Newport  News. 
I  discovered,  after  I  had  gotten  down  to  the 
[32] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

station,  that  there  is  a  1.35  train  for  Washington 
that  I  could  have  taken,  and  so  stayed  with  you 
at  the  Mid.  Frol.  However,  I  settled  down  in  the 
12.30  and  woke  up  the  next  A.M.  at  Washington 
with  that  evil  tempered,  sandpaper-clothed  feeling 
of  filth  which  is  the  trade  mark  of  all  midnight 
trains.  A  bath,  and  such,  at  Alice's  was  a  suc- 
cessful remedy,  and  I  trotted  down  to  the  War 
Department,  to  start  in  on  a  complicated  little 
game  of  catch  as  catch  can,  with  the  Aviation 
authorities.  Their  policy  is  one  of  mystery.  You 
ask  for  an  application  whereupon  a  little  colored 
"pusson"  takes  you  in  tow  thru  some  twenty 
miles  of  stairs  to  an  equally  little  white  man  who 
gives  you  a  blank.  The  rest  of  your  day  is  spent 
in  taking  that  little  blank  for  visits  to  various 
dens  in  the  building. 

Next  comes  your  physical  exam.,  over  which 
a  hypochondriac  with  the  darkest  views  of  his 
fellowmen,  presides.  After  two  hours  of  a 
twentieth-century  refinement  of  the  inquisition 
you  are  pronounced  fit,  and  travel  on  again  for 
your  mental  test.     The  presiding  deity  there  is  a 

[33] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


gentleman  who  feels  like  David, — or  was  it  Isaiah 
— that  all  men  are  liars.  And  the  questions: 
"What  is  the  average  age  of  the  Dodo?"  the 
correct  answer  should  be  37.  "What  is  the 
average  sex.^^"  but  to  go  on. 

It  really  did  take  me  two  days  to  get  by  all 
the  red  tape,  and  apparently  I  was  miraculously 
lucky  at  that. 

First  his  instructors  and  later  his  pupils  agreed 
that  Quentin  was  gifted  with  that  sixth  sense  that 
singles  out  the  born  aviator.  Some  men  have  an 
ability  to  call  forth  from  machinery  the  best  that 
is  in  it;  it  is  a  power  analogous  to  that  bestowed 
upon  occasional  horsemen,  and  is  even  more  inex- 
plicable. Quentin  possessed  this  gift  to  a  very 
marked  degree,  and  when  the  first  detachment  of 
aviators  was  sent  across  to  France  he  was  among 
i*^  <?,   ,  them,  as  was  his  boyhood  friend,  Hamilton  Coo- 

lidge.  The  two  boys  had  been  at  Groton  and 
Harvard  together,  they  were  at  the  same  aviators' 
schools  in  France,  and  went  up  to  the  line  to- 
gether, serving  in  neighboring  squadrons,,     Coo- 

[34] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


lidge  lived  to  become  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
American  aces,  and  when  he  was  brought  down  on 
October  27,  1918,  by  a  direct  hit  from  an  anti- 
aircraft gun,  his  loss  was  bitterly  felt  by  officer 
and  enlisted  man  alike. 

On  July  23,  1917,  they  sailed  from  New  York 
on  the  Orduiia. 

25  July,  1917. 
We  are  apparently  to  put  into  Halifax  and  there 
wait  for  a  convoy,  goodness  knows  how  long ! 
.  .  .  There  is  literally  nobody  on  board  except 
soldiers.  Cousin  Katy,  and  five  or  six  extraneous 
nonentities  that  bob  up  and  down  on  the  smoking 
room  horizon.  It's  by  way  of  being  very  dull,  for 
shuffle  board,  bridge,  and  reading  become  boring 
in  time  and  even  the  springs  of  conversation  can 
eventually  be  pumped  dry.  Our  outfit  are  really 
mighty  fine  fellows,  all  of  them.  We've  organized 
one  of  those  interminable  bridge-games,  and  as  we 
play  for  a  quarter  of  a  cent  a  point  there  is  not 
much  chance  of  any  great  financial  transactions 
either  waj^  ...  a  thoroughly  satisfactory  arrange- 
ment— magnifique  et  pas  cher. 
[  35  ] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


Monday,  after  I  left  you  I  trotted  down  to  the 
boat.  ...  I  don't  mind  confessing  I  felt  pretty 
down  when  I  saw  the  Statue  of  Liberty  and  the 
New  York  sky  line  dropping  below  the  horizon. 

Thanks,  Mother  dear,  for  the  "Lute  of  Jade.'* 
It  was  just  the  sort  of  present  that  could  cheer  me 
up.  When  I  opened  it  that  first  night  I  didn't 
know  what  it  was,  but  it  made  the  most  tremen- 
dous difference,  and  of  course  I  love  it.  It  is 
sitting  beside  me  as  I  write,  looking  friendly  and 
very  "family  and  home"  like. 

The  next  letter  was  from  Halifax,  where  the 
transport  was  held  waiting  for  the  convoy. 

I  found  a  paper  bundle  in  my  cabin  when  I  re- 
turned, which  mother  had  left.  I  opened  it  and 
found,  neatly  wrapped  in  a  napkin, — a  loaf  of 
bread,  lots  of  chocolate,  and  a  knife,  with  a  note 
saying  it  was  from  Margaret,  the  cook !  I  half 
expected  to  find  my  pajamas  full  of  messages  from 
Mary,  after  that. 

The  long  stay  here  has  been  pretty  hard  on 
[36] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

everybody,  for  you  can't  help  feeling  it  would  have 
been  much  pleasanter  to  put  in  a  week  more  in 
New  York !  Otherwise  I  am  fairly  well  settled  in 
existence  of  a  uniform  and  appalling  dullness. 
We've  been  trying  boxing  for  exercise  but  yester- 
day I  succeeded  in  getting  one  on  the  nose  which 
the  doctor  thinks  may  have  broken  it.  It  doesn't 
look  crushed,  tho,  so  I  think  he  may  be  wrong. 

The  "little  clock"  is  a  great  satisfaction  and 
sits  sociably  by  my  bed,  beside  the  bottle  of 
Poland  water.  The  bread  and  chocolate  is  just 
finished  and  was  a  howling  success.  Please  thank 
Margaret.  This  letter  is  merely  a  goodbye  one, 
for  total  atrophy  of  the  brain  has  resulted  from 
this  long  stay. 

August  10th 

As  it  looks  as  if  we  were  really  getting  some- 
where, for  they  promise  we  will  be  in  by  tomorrow, 
— so  I  shall  telegraph  you  then.  I  was  going  to 
send  this  from  London,  but  things  are  so  uncertain 
that  I  cannot  be  sure  we  will  ever  get  there  at  all, 
let  alone  be  there  long  enough  to  get  letters  off. 
There  is  a  chance  we  will  go  direct  to  Folkestone. 

[37] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


At  the  moment  I  feel  as  if  anywhere  on  shore 
would  be  better  than  this  boat.  She's  comfort- 
able, and  the  food  is  O.  K.,  but  three  weeks — 
Columbus  could  have  given  us  a  good  race  at  that 
rate.  There's  really  astonishingly  little  going  on, 
on  Shipboard.  All  the  regular  ship  games  and  such 
like  have  died  from  overwork,  and  our  chief  amuse- 
ment is  betting  on  when  we  arrive.  .  .  .  Other- 
wise our  life  is  spent  in  anticipation,  which,  though 
a  great  solace,  makes  but  poor  reading  in  a  letter. 

Paris, — August  18th 
39  Rue  Villejust 

Starting  way  back  at  Liverpool, — when  I  fin- 
ished my  last  letter  to  you  we  were  in  sight  of  the 
lights  at  the  mouth  of  the  Mersey,  and  I  had  de- 
cided that  we  were  just  about  to  go  in  when  our 
destroyer  convoy  began  a  lot  of  promiscuous  sig- 
nalling and  round  we  faced  and  tore  full  speed 
down  the  channel.  I  had  a  horrid  moment,  for  I 
began  to  feel  that  we  were  destined  to  take  the 
place  of  the  flying  Dutchman.  I  could  almost 
hear  the  "man  in  the  smoking  room"  on  board 
ship  ten  years  hence,  as  he  told  over  his  whiskey 

[38] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

and  soda  how  he  once  had  seen  the  lost  Ordufta — 
grey  mist  pouring  from  her  rusted  funnel,  go  tear- 
ing past — leaving  no  wake  behind  her — the  sun- 
liglit  showing  thru  the  rotted  ribs  of  her  boats, — 
and  had  heard  the  rattle  of  the  skeleton  soldiers 
that  drilled  on  her  mildewed  decks  to  the  wail  of  a 
ghastly  band. 

However,  Sunday  morning  at  five  my  dreams 
were  rudely  shattered  by  the  thumping  of  the 
anchor  chain  and  we  were  in  Liverpool.  There 
we  were  met  with  bad  news.  Alas  for  all  our 
pleasant  schemes  of  London.  We  were  packed 
into  a  filthy  little  troop-train  with  an  engine  of  a 
type  once  used  on  the  New  York  elevated,  and 
shot  off  at  once  to  Folkestone.  There  after  an  un- 
eventful night  we  boarded  the  channel  steamer. 
It  was  hard  to  realise  that  I  had  gone  thru  Eng- 
land. Somehow,  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  should  ever 
really  see  it  until  we  go  abroad.  I  shall  never  have 
*'  permission"  to  go  there,  for  if  I  get  long  enough 
to  go  there  I  shall  wait  over  and  get  an  extension 
to  go  home  to  you.  England  is  lovely  tho.  The 
hedge  rows  are  green,  and  the  little  canals  mirror 

[39  1 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


the  sky,  and  all  about  there  is  a  kind  of  "lots  of 
time"  quiet,  as  the  war  were  an  idle  speculation, 
and  not  hideous  reality.  The  little  thatched 
cottages  and  the  funny  old  bridges  seem  all  vener- 
able apostles  of  peace. 

In  France,  tho,  it  is  different.  Even  on  the 
run  up  from  Boulogne  to  Paris  the  signs  of  war 
were  everywhere.  Every  little  while  there  would 
come  a  concentrating  camp  of  some  sort, — a  food 
depot,  or  a  gang  of  Chinese,  or  German  prisoners 
that  worked  along  the  railroad  tracks.  And  then 
came  Paris,  so  late  at  night  that  I,  for  one,  was 
glad  enough  to  sleepily  turn  into  my  room,  and 
drop  off,  too  tired  to  care  about  baggages  or  the 
frenzied  protests  of  the  hotel  concierge. 

Next  morning  about  eleven  I  woke,  and  after 
a  breakfast  of  war  bread  and  eggs — no  more 
brioches  et  miel — reported  at  headquarters.  There 
was  all  sorts  of  news.  None  of  our  nine  oflScers 
are  to  be  used  for  flying,  at  least  for  the  present. 
The  trouble  is  that  we  are  going  into  this  war, 
of  course,  on  a  vast  scale,  and  that  means  a  vast 
organisation.     A  huge  American  school  is  to  be 

[40] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


built  in  the  central  part  of  France, — it  has  to  be 
provided  with  an  administration,  and  officers 
have  to  be  trained  to  take  charge  of  instruction  in 
bombing,  anti-aircraft,  reconnaissance,  and  the 
various  other  highly  specialised  forms  of  work. 
The  net  result  is  that  all  of  our  nine  are  placed 
in  one  or  another  kind  of  ground  job,  and  scat- 
tered to  the  four  winds  of  heaven.  I  report  to- 
morrow at  the  American  School — fairly  near 
where  Tommy  is — to  take  the  place  of  Seth,  who 
has  gone  with  our  enlisted  men  to  a  French  school. 
The  work  I  know  nothing  of  as  yet. — I'll  report 
as  soon  as  I've  begun.  I  don't  fancy  that  I  shall 
care  very  much  for  it,  tho'.  However,  whatever 
it  is,  its  all  in  the  days  run  and  part  of  our  busi- 
ness, which  is  to  eliminate  the  Hun.  I  shall  prob- 
ably have  no  flying  for  at  least  two  months, — and 
during  all  that  time  will  not  get  into  the  Zone  des 
Armees,  if  that  pleases  you.  I  confess  I'm  sorry, 
for  I  wanted  to  get  started  flying,  and  have  it 
over  with.  I  know  my  back  wouldn't  last  very 
long.  The  thing  that  I  realize  more  each  day  I 
am  here,  is  how  serious  a  proposition  this  war 

[41] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


has  become.  Back  in  the  states  no  one  realises 
how  important  it  is.  I  would  give  my  boots  to 
get  hold  of  some  of  them  who  said  to  me  that  all 
this  war  needed  was  our  wealth.  Of  course  they 
need  it, — ^but  someone,  Napoleon  I  think,  said 
that  you  can't  beat  a  nation  by  starving  it  or 
bankrupting  it.  We  have  before  us  the  task  of 
driving  the  Bosche  back,  and  overwhelming  him, 
and  no  amount  of  talk,  of  airplane  fleets  that 
loom  large  only  in  the  minds  of  the  newspaper 
writers,  can  remove  his  presence  from  before  us. 
Paris  shows  that,  for  it  is  not  the  Paris  that  we 
used  to  love,  the  Paris  of  five  years  past.  The 
streets  are  there,  but  the  crowds  are  different. 
There  are  no  more  young  men  in  the  crowds  un- 
less in  uniform.  Everywhere  you  see  women  in 
black,  and  there  is  no  more  cheerful  shouting  and 
laughing.  Many,  many  of  the  women  have  a 
haunted  look  in  their  eyes,  as  if  they  had  seen 
something  too  terrible  for  forgetfulness.  They 
make  one  realise  the  weight  that  lies  on  all  alike 
now.  There  is  a  sobering  like  no  other  feeling 
I  know  in  the  sight  of  a  boy  my  age  helped  along 

[42] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


the  street  by  someone  who  takes  pity  on  his  poor 
blind  eyes.     It  all  makes  me  feel  older. 


Issoudun — Aug.  20 — 1917 
Monday  night. 

I've  only  time  for  a  very  short  note,  as  this  is 
to  go  by  a  truck  driver  who  is  leaving  for  Paris. 
After  all  sorts  of  excitements,  I'm  settled  down 
here  definitely,  with  Cord  for  running  partner. 
My  job  isn't  half  bad  either.  I'm  supply  officer 
for  the  camp,  which  consists  principally  in  keeping 
a  fleet  of  fifty-two  motor  trucks  in  running  order 
and  at  the  proper  place.  I  also  have  to  look  after 
endless  supplies  of  gasoline,  and  tools  that  are 
all  jumbled  into  one  vast  pile,  straight  from  the 
ship.  In  between  times  I  act  as  the  buffer  be- 
tween irate  railroad  officials  full  of  jabbering 
complaints,  and  equally  angry  American  construc- 
tion officers  who  would  like  to  consign  the  entire 
French  railroad  system  to  Hell,  way  billed  collect 
farther  on.  Altogether,  I've  got  a  reasonably 
busy  job  !  However  its  very  good  fun — lots  more 
responsibility  than  I've  ever  had, — in  fact  lots 
[43] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


a 


more  than  I'd  think  of  attempting  back  home. 
Only  being  out  here,  with  no  one  else  to  do  it,  we 
have  to,  that's  all. 

Its  hard,  tho',  to  realise  that  its  war.  We're 
stuck  five  miles  out  of  a  typical  little  French 
town, — the  old  tower  and  Hotel  de  Ville  dating 
back  to  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion's  time, — with  no 
appreciable  improvements  in  sanitation  during 
the  last  six  hundred  years.  There  isn't  a  bath 
tub  within  less  than  twenty-five  miles!  In  fact 
on  Sunday  Cord  and  I  became  so  desperate  that 
we  took  to  our  motor  cycles, — as  supply  and 
quartermaster  oflScers  we  have  them, — and  went 
off  twenty  miles  to  the  nearest  river  to  swim.  It 
seemed  preposterously  un-war  like, — motor-cycling 
off  for  a  Sunday  swim,  and  then  lying  on  our  backs 
and  watching  the  sunset  as  we  talked  of  the  place 
that  seems  pleasantest  to  our  minds  now — Long 
Island.  We  both  agreed  that  we  hadn't  realised 
how  much  we  loved  it  until  we  were  away.  I 
think  he's  been  a  little  homesick  down  here, — it 
is  a  forsaken  hole.  However  mail  gets  here,  and 
apparently  its  equally  quick  whether  by  the 
Farmer's  Loan  and  Trust  or  the  Military  mail. 

[44] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


I've  had  a  letter  from  father  and  one  from  mother 
dated  the  thirtieth  whicli  came  in  less  than  three 
weeks  via  the  Farmer's  Loan  and  Trust. 

I  have  no  idea  how  long  I  shall  be  here.  I'm 
afraid  it  will  be  months  before  I  even  get  in  a 
plane  again.  Both  Cord  and  I  feel  that  we  would 
like  our  jobs  a  lot  more  if  they  came  after  we  had 
been  a  couple  of  months  at  the  front. 

August  23rd. 
I  have  been  so  very  busy  that  this  is  the  first 
chance  I  have  had  for  a  half  an  hour  to  write  let- 
ters in.  As  I  wrote  Mother,  I  am  now  at  the 
American  Aviation  School,  or  rather  what  will  be 
the  American  School.  Mother  knows  where  it  is 
and  I  am  not  allowed  to  mention  the  name.  At 
the  moment  it  looks  as  little  like  an  Aviation 
School  as  anything  I  have  seen.  We  have  about 
two  hundred  men,  and  are  busily  employed  get- 
ting all  the  vast  equipment  necessary  to  the  school 
unloaded.  With  my  usual  evil  luck  I  am  stuck 
here  as  supply  officer,  a  job  for  which  I  am  as 
little  gifted  as  possible.  Judging  by  the  way  I  have 
[45] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


mishandled  the  ten  thousand  kinds  of  red  tape 
which  I  have  struck,  my  only  destination  after  the 
war  will  be  Atlanta  State  Prison. 

I'm  in  the  midst  of  a  tremendous  fight  with 
the  quartermaster  up  the  line,  as  he  refuses  to  al- 
low me  a  motor-machine-shop,  without  which  I 
can  not  possibly  keep  my  trucks  in  commission. 
I  also  have  been  unable  to  get  any  sort  of  American 
reading  material.  Will  you  ask  Mother  to  send  me 
anything  she  has  in  the  line  of  books,  that  will 
keep  me  up  on  what's  going  on  outside — fact, 
fancy  and  fiction.  You  have  no  idea  how  thor- 
oughly isolated  we  are  out  here  in  the  A.  E.  F. 

Eleanor  treated  me  wonderfully  in  Paris.  She 
has  a  really  delightful  house  from  the  military 
viewpoint — ^good  bed,  piano,  lots  of  room,  bath 
tub,  nice  servants  and  even  a  garden,  and,  which 
is  the  best  of  all,  "family"  in  the  shape  of  herself,  j 


Wednesday  August  22nd. 

Issoudun  U.  S.  Aviation  School 

(or  rather  soon-to-be-school). 


I  can  truly  say  now   that  I   am   a  blesse   du 
guerre,  for  in  the  last  two  days  I  have  been  in  two 

[46] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

motorcycle  smashups.  The  first  one  was  yester- 
day. I  was  on  my  way  over  to  Nevers — eighty 
miles  from  here — to  arrange  about  some  supplies, 
and  Cord,  who  is  mess  sergeant,  had  gone  with 
me  on  his  machine.  We  were  passing  a  truck, 
with  him  in  the  lead  when,  for  some  unknown  rea- 
son, he  slowed  up.  I  was  coming  on  him,  so  I 
slammed  on  my  brake,  which  jammed,  and  I 
started  on  down  the  road  skidding  side  and  every 
which  way.  Cord  put  on  power  and  got  out  of 
the  way,  but  as  my  brake  was  locked  I  could  do 
nothing  so  I  saw  a  bully  spill  coming  my  way,  and 
tried  my  best  to  get  clear  of  the  truck.  The  next 
thing  I  remember  is  lying  on  the  bank  with  Cord 
and  the  truck  driver  pouring  water  on  me  and 
trying  to  put  first  aid  compresses  on  my  face.  I 
was  pretty  well  bunged  up — a  couple  of  deep  cuts 
on  my  face,  some  loose  teeth  and  two  hands  with 
not  much  palm  left. 

By  luck  we  happened  to  be  near  the  aviation 
school  where  Tommy  is — we  had  intended  to 
stop  there — and  I  was  bundled  into  the  truck 
and  sent  over  there  to  the  hospital  and  bandaged 
up.  Then,  after  about  an  hour,  I  went  over  to 
[47] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


the  barracks  and  saw  Tommy,  while  I  was  wait- 
ing for  one  of  our  cars  to  come  for  me.  He  is  in 
very  good  form,  and  is  flying  very  well.  In  fact, 
an  instructor  told  me  that  he  thought  that  Tommy 
would  be  the  first  one  of  his  class  to  make  an 
"ace"  which  is  pretty  good,  I  think.  I  got  back 
last  night — ^bringing  all  sorts  of  messages  to  you 
from  Tommy  and  thanks  for  your  letter — and 
started  out  to  write  to  you  but  found  that  my 
hands  were  too  bad,  and  was  sent  off  to  bed  by 
the  doctor.  By  the  way,  those  two  letters, — to 
Tim  and  Tommy — nearly  got  me  into  a  row. 
They  were  spotted  by  a  customs  official,  opened, 
and  read,  and  I  was  nearly  jailed  for  life  for  at- 
tempting to  bring  them  in.  That  en  passant. 
I  At  all  events  this  morning,  stiff  all  over,  and  about 
an  inch  deep  in  bandage,  I  had  to  go  in  town  to 
see  about  loading  some  cars.  As  there  was  no 
auto,  I  went  via  motorcycle  side  car,  and  on  the 
way  in  the  man  who  was  driving  ran  into  the 
wall  of  a  house  and  shot  me  out  on  to  my  ear. 
That  time  I  reopened  both  hands  and  laid  out  one 
hip  with  a  bad  cut  and  bone  bruise, — so  that  at 

[48] 


THE   WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

the  moment,  tho'  in  excellent  form,  I  am  some- 
what dilapidated. 

I'm  beginning  to  rather  like  my  job — except 
for  smashups.  It  is  quite  interesting  trying  out 
the  different  men,  and  seeing  how  each  turns  out, 
how  to  get  the  best  out  of  them,  and  how  to  size 
them  up.  I  suppose  it  all  makes  up  experience. 
There's  some  good  news.  We  are  having  a  hangar 
shipped  down  to  us  at  once,  so  I  suppose  we  shall 
soon  have  planes.  At  the  moment  they  look 
pretty  far  oflf. 

August  25,  1917. 

Today  I  was  at  Bourges  and  had  my  lunch  at 
a  queer  little  tavern,  black  with  age,  that  lies  in 
the  corner  of  an  old  castle  wall.  Over  the  door- 
way hangs  a  faded  sign,  ''Aux  trois  raisins  noirs" 
and  up  by  the  wall  runs  a  little,  crooked  alley,  half 
cobblestone,  half  steps,  that  is  called  Rue  Cassecou. 
I  know  you  would  have  loved  it, — and  Madame 
who  stands  at  your  table,  red  cheeked  and  with 
[49] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


the  white  cap  that  the  peasant  women  wear,  while 
Monsieur  le  proprietaire,  cooks  the  omelet.  I  took 
an  hour  off  from  my  work,  for  there  were  places 
that  cried  for  exploration,  —  narrow,  winding 
streets  that  might  lead  anywhere,  and  finally 
did  bring  me  to  the  cathedral.  It  has  one  square 
tower,  but  all  around  the  walls  are  buttressed,  like 
those  in  Notre  Dame.  It  is  surrounded  by  a 
cluster  of  crooked  little  streets,  whose  houses  seem 
as  grey  and  ancient  as  the  gargoyles  on  the  tower. 
I  went  in,  for  there  was  no  service.  Once  inside 
it  seemed  like  another  world.  There  was  quiet  so 
deep  that  I  could  hear  the  patter  of  the  sacristan's 
feet  as  he  came  toward  me,  and  the  whispers 
of  two  old  peasant  women  who  knelt  at  a  little 
shrine  in  the  wall.  It  is  like  Chartres,  for  as  you 
come  in  you  see  only  the  sombre  gloom  of  the 
vaulted  arches,  and  then  as  you  pass  on  you  look 
back  on  the  glory  of  a  great  rose  window.  There 
was  one  window, — a  virgin  with  a  veil, — before 
whom  candles  were  lit, — that  was  so  lovely  that  I 
burnt  before  her  a  candle,  j 

I  shall  be  very  glad  to  get  any  books  that  you 
[50] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

can  send  me.  At  the  moment  my  library  consists 
of  the  collected  works  of  Gaston  Leblanc,  father 
of  Ars^ne  Lupin,  and  the  "Pageant  of  English 
Poetry,'*  and  "The  Wind  in  the  Willows." 

I  wonder  if  I  ever  told  you  my  pet  prayer, — 
almost  the  only  one  that  I  care  for.  It  was 
written,  I  think,  by  Bishop  Potter.  "  0  Lord,  pro- 
tect us  all  the  day  long  of  our  troublous  life  on 
earth,  until  the  shadows  lengthen  and  the  evening 
comes,  and  the  busy  world  is  hushed,  the  fever  of 
life  is  over,  and  our  work  is  done.  Then  in  Thy 
mercy  grant  us  a  safe  lodging  and  peace  at  the 
last,  through  Jesus  Christ,  our  Lord."  I've  al- 
ways loved  it,  and  now,  when  life  is  hard,  and  all 
that  is  dearest  to  me  is  far  away,  it  is  a  comfort 
to  think  that  sometime  all  this  will  be  past,  and 
that  we  will  have  peace. 

August  28, 1917. 

You  know,  there  are  periods  when  I  curse  the 
day  that  I  ever  learned  French.     I  am  one  of  the 

[  51  ] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


two  oflScers  in  camp  who  can  talk  it,  so  that  out- 
side of  my  regular  supply  work  I  get  sent  off  all 
over  the  country  on  wild  goose  chases  after  ma- 
terial with  nothing  but  a  rather  limited  French 
vocabulary  to  go  on. 

Last  Saturday  was  one, — and  typical  of  most 
of  the  others.  I  was  sleeping  like  a  log  at  about 
six  in  the  morning — it's  good  and  cold  then,  too — 
when  someone  grabbed  my  foot  and  shook  it, 
to  wake  me.  I  turned  over  sleepily,  and  with 
one  eye  open,  remarked  that  tho'  I  didn't  know 
who  the  Hellespont  it  was,  I  extended  the  hos- 
pitality of  any  spot  outside  my  tent.  There 
was  a  sort  of  pause,  and  then  the  person  went 
on  in  an  apologetic  way,  "I'm  Major  Hyles." 
And  it  was  !  Of  course  that  woke  me  up,  so  I  slid 
out  of  my  warm  sleeping  bag  into  clammy  clothes, 
and  found  out  what  the  matter  was.  He  wanted 
apparently,  a  pump,  a  switch,  and  an  extra  loco- 
motive,— for  which  I  was  to  scour  the  country, 
and  not  return  empty  handed. 

That  being  the  case  I  hopped  on  my  motor- 
cycle— it  was  the  first  day  the  doctor  let  me  ride 

[52] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


since  my  accident — and  disappeared,  breakfast- 
less,  into  the  scenery.  Twelve  o'clock  found  me 
at  a  town  about  30  miles  away,  tired  and  dusty 
with  over  a  hundred  miles  to  the  bad,  and  no 
success.  However  things  began  to  look  better 
and  after  having  seen  several  regiments  of  M.  le 
Chef  de  Sections,  and  Chef  de  Districts^  I  got  the 
engine  and  arranged  to  have  five  trucks  over 
at  eight  the  next  morning  for  the  switch.  Of 
pump  however,  there  was  no  sign,  until  I  found 
one  in  the  barn  at  the  back  of  a  manufacturing 
company's  shops,  and  then  I  started  back,  re- 
ported in  town  to  the  captain,  and  came  out  here 
to  my  tent,  about  9:30,  all  in,  and  with  pleasant 
prospect  of  getting  up  at  six  in  the  morning  and 
going  over  with  the  trucks  for  the  switch. 


September  5,  1917. 

My    hours    have    been    getting    progressively 
longer.     I  start  in  with  six  o'clock  breakfast  and 
work  till  five.    Then  I  go  over  with  Cord  to  the 
[53] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


French  camp  to  fly,  which  means  that  I  don't 
get  back  to  bed  until  between  nine  and  ten.  Its 
a  mighty  long  day, — and  the  work's  tiresome. 
We  are  arranging  for  the  storing  and  unpacking  of 
all  the  equipment, — and  as  it  ranges  from  rock 
crushers  to  flash  lights, — and  has  all  to  be  listed, 
checked  with  an  invoice  from  the  states, — stored 
according  to  classification  and  then  cross  indexed 
in  a  filing  system,  I  am  as  busy  as  several  hivef uls 
of  bees. 

Then  on  top  of  that  there's  flying  which  I  don't 
think  I'd  do  if  it  weren't  for  Cord.  He  has  been 
relieved  from  his  quartermaster  job,  and  so  hasn't 
much  to  do.  Consequently  he  has  arranged  that 
he  and  I  go  over  to  the  French  school  and  fly. 
We  flew  twice  with  instructors,  and  then  went 
alone, — as  (except  for  the  controls)  the  ma- 
chines aren't  much  different  from  the  Curtis. 
They  are  as  safe  as  an  auto,  as  safe  really  as  the 
old  Curtis.  All  this  doesn't  interfere  with  the  fact 
that  a  seventeen  mile  motorcycle  ride,  a  flight, 
and  then  back  by  night  aren't  very  resting.  In 
fact  my  back  just  about  quit  on  me,  so  I  struck, 

[54] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

and  this  afternoon  called  off  work  at  five  thirty, 
washed  and  shaved  (though  there's  no  particular 
reason  to  over  here !).  j 

September  6,  1917. 

Last  night,  just  after  I  had  finished  writing  to 
you,  a  tremendous  thunderstorm  struck  us.  I 
was  in  bed, — dozing, — and  luxuriating  in  the  fact 
that  it  was  half -past  eight  and  I  was  all  ready  to  go 
to  sleep, — when  a  regular  cloud  burst  hit  the  camp. 
Inside  of  five  minutes  my  tent  had  become  the 
housing  for  a  very  respectable  water  course, — a 
fact  which  I  discovered  when  it  started  to  wash  off 
some  of  my  clothes.  I  hastily  moved  everything 
above  high  water  mark,  and  then  turned  over  to  a 
sleep,  punctuated  by  leaks,  and  one  visit  from  a 
water-soaked  dog,  that  fled  to  my  bed  for  refuge. 

In  the  morning  our  camp  had  settled  into  a 
sea  of  gumbo  mud.  I  got  down  to  my  oflBce  for 
work,  and  after  a  strenuous  two  hours  succeeded 
in  getting  six  of  the  trucks  out  onto  the  road. 
The  others  were  buried  axle  deep  in  mud,  and  so 

[55] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


we  left  them  for  dry  weather.  Consequently  my 
day  was  peaceful — interrupted  only  by  the  ar- 
rival of  a  French  general,  described  to  me  by  my 
supply  sergeant  as  "a  French  admiral,  or  some- 
thing, all  dolled  up  in  gold  lace,  who's  a  jabber- 
ing after  you  out  there." 

P.  S.    Next  morning  6:30  A.M. — And  the  winds 

blew  and  the  rains  fell  and  the  centre  of  my 

tent  has  become  a  water  course, — so  now  I  am  an 

evacue — alas  and  alackaday-de !    It's  rained  all 

night 

September  7. 

I  There's  been  a  temporary  cessation   of   work 

due  to  flood  conditions  so  I  have  a  chance  to  write 

to  you.     I  have  never  seen  such  a  place  for  rain. 

It  started  in  last  night  just  about  the  time  I  got 

to  bed,  and  poured,  beginning  with  a  thunder 

storm.     I  settled  in  for  a  comfortable  sleep,  as  my 

tent  didn't  leak,  when  I  noticed  the  beginning  of  a 

water  course  across  my  tent  floor.     I  had  just 

time  to  put  everything  up  on  my  trunk  when  it 

began  to  come  through  in  dead  earnest.     I  don't 

[56] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

mind  a  river  bed  as  a  geological  formation,  but 
I  can't  say  that  I  think  much  of  it  as  a  resting 
place. 

This  morning  when  I  woke  up  there  was  about 
an  inch  of  water  everywhere,  and  I  had  the  pleas- 
ant job  of  getting  into  damp  clothes  while  perched 
precariously  on  the  edge  of  my  cot.  Wlien  I  got 
down  to  my  office,  and  supply  department,  I 
found  another  flood.  The  roof  leaks  in  about 
seventeen  different  places,  and  the  supply  staff 
were  clustered  around  the  few  Ararats  afforded 
by  desks  and  tool  benches.  Consequently  there 
wasn't  much  work  ahead,  for  the  trucks  are  all 
mired  down  so  deeply  that  it  would  be  almost 
impossible  to  even  get  them  out  to  the  road,  and 
even  the  most  enthusiastic  of  motorcyclists 
wouldn't  try  the  roads  thru  all  this.  So,  after 
about  an  hour  of  work  on  a  filing  system  we  are 
fixing  up  for  our  tools  I  had  to  give  it  up,  as  the 
rain  spattered  down  onto  the  file  cards,  and  I  am 
calling  it  a  day  and  writing  to  you  instead. 

We  are  really  beginning  to  get  settled  in  here 
in  spite  of  the  weather,  and  I  think  we  shall  over- 
[57] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


come  that,  for  I  am  going  to  start  building  cinder 
roads  as  soon  as  the  weather  clears  enough,  to 
get  my  trucks  thru  to  the  railroad  tracks.  I  hope 
they  will  really  get  the  school  itself  started  soon, 
and  then  maybe  there  will  be  barracks  for  us  in- 
stead of  tents.  The  trouble  is  that  garages  for 
trucks,  and  sheds  for  tools  and  equipment  are 
much  more  important  than  sheds  for  mere  men, 
and  so  they  have  to  come  first. 

I  have  gotten  in  a  certain  amount  of  flying 
over  at  a  French  school,  some  seventeen  miles 
from  here.  I  go  over  there  with  Cord  at  five  thirty 
when  the  work  is  over  here  and  get  in  about  a 
half  an  hour's  flight.  I  can't  do  it  very  often 
though,  for  I  am  having  a  certain  amount  of 
trouble  with  my  back,  and  I  don't  want  to  have 
it  give  out  on  me  while  I  am  still  supply  OflScer. 
About  every  third  day  I  call  my  work  done  at 
five  thirty,  and  settle  down  to  a  book  and  a  pipe 
until  eight  thirty  bed  time,  and  so  I  make  out 
pretty  well.  I  don't  know  when  I  am  going  to 
be  put  regularly  into  flying  service  again.  I  am 
afraid  that  it  won't  be  for  some  time,  to  judge 
[58] 


THE   WAY  OF  THE   EAGLE 

by  the  way  things  are  going.  Still,  I  haven't 
got  Ted's  point  of  view,  and  I'm  certain  I'll  get 
in  in  plenty  of  time.  I'm  not  in  the  least  afraid 
that  the  war  will  be  done  before  I've  had  my 
whack  at  the  Boche.  I  have  to  go  up  to  Paris 
on  business  next  week,  and  I  hope  I  shall  get  a 
chance  to  see  Arch  and  Ted  then,  for  Eleanor 
thinks  that  they  are  going  to  try  and  get  back  en 
permission.  I  won't  have  much  time  for  them,  as 
I  have  to  get  vast  quantities  of  parts  for  motor- 
cycles and  trucks,  but  I  am  going  to  stay  with 
Eleanor. 

I  haven't  heard  a  sound  from  the  States  for 
over  a  week  now,  so  I  suppose  there  must  have 
been  some  mix  up  in  the  mails  at  the  Post  Office. 
I  suppose  they  will  get  to  me  in  the  end,  though, 
for  I  have  gotten  two  letters  from  Eleanor  that 
came  by  way  of  the  military  Post  Office. 

My  fingers  are  getting  so  cold  that  typewriting 
is  becoming  an  illegible  attempt,  so  I  shall  even 
call  it  off  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  Lots  of  love 
to  all  the  family,  and  thanks  for  all  your  letters. 
Mother  dearest,  from,  ^ 

QUENTIN. 

[59] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


39  Rue  de  Villejusl, 
September  13,  1917. 


Just  last  Monday  the  Order  came  thru  that  Cord 
and  I  were  assigned  to  the  1st  Aero  Squadron,  and 
then  to  report  there  at  once  for  flying.  I  could 
not  leave,  as  there  was  no  one  to  take  my  place 
as  supply  officer.  However,  I  did  start  up  to 
Paris  at  once,  as  there  were  all  sorts  of  things  that 
I  needed  for  my  supply  department.  It  seems  to 
be  an  interminable  job  getting  things  here  in 
France,  so  I  shall  probably  be  up  here  with  Eleanor 
for  several  days  more.  As  a  matter  of  fact  I 
was  very  sorry  to  leave  the  supply  department 
just  at  this  moment.  I  had  expected  to  leave  it 
about  three  months  later.  As  it  is  I  leave  just 
when  I  was  beginning  to  get  things  running  well, 
and  when  I  had  really  become  attached  to  the  men 
that  were  under  me.  When  I  told  my  supply 
sergeant  he  said  nothing  at  all  for  a  minute  and 
then  "Oh  Hell,  sir,  can't  you  take  me  with  you  to 
that  outfit.'^"  which  I  thought  was  pretty  nice  of 
him.     However  I  had  to  do  it.     I  rather  think 

[60] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


that  if  I  had  wanted  to  I  could  have  stayed  with 
the  job,— but  it  wasn't  worth  it.  If  I  had  stuck 
this  time  it  meant  that  I  was  running  the  risk  of 
being  stuck  with  it  permanently,  a  sort  of  em- 
busquS  occupation.  And  so  I  am  changed,  and 
become  the  juniorcst  of  junior  lieutenants  in  an 
outfit  composed  mostly  of  regular  army  fliers. 
Still  I  get  back  to  planes  again — and  it  means 
that  I'll  probably  see  service  fairly  soon.  I  was 
beginning  to  feel  rather  like  an  embusqui, — but 
this  changes  it  all.  I  rather  think  we'll  first  be 
down  where  Tommy  is, — and  so  I'll  be  able  to 
get  hold  of  him.  As  soon  as  I  get  with  the  squad- 
ron I'll  give  you  all  the  news  of  it. 

One  rather  amusing  thing  happened — amusing 
because  it  was  so  typically  American.  The  Com- 
mandant where  we  were  is  a  regular  old  French 
war  dog,  with  a  string  of  medals  across  his  chest. 
The  other  day  at  dinner  I  heard  him  give  a  great 
roar  of  laughter,  and  so  naturally  I  asked  him 
what  was  amusing  him  so.  It  appears  that  he  had 
admired  a  dog  belonging  to  one  of  our  captains, 
whereupon  the  captain, — a  long,  scrawny  indi- 
[61] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


vidual  with  a  strongly  American  sense  of  humor 
and  delightful  blue  eyes  with  a  concealed  twinkle 
in  them,  explained  to  him  in  laborious  French  that 
the  dog  was  all  right,  yes,  but  that  its  mother  had 
"plus  de  medailles  que  vous  n'en  avez,  mon  com- 
mandant." 

Paris  is  as  delightful  as  ever,  tho'  I  have  been 
too  busy  to  see  very  much  of  it, — at  least  of  the 
parts  that  we'll  see  when  we  go  here  after  the  war. 
Most  of  my  goings  and  comings  have  been  in 
obscure  garages  and  warehouses  with  addresses 
like  14  Rue  Roger  Bacon  and  64  Quai  de  Billy. 


29  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Boulogne 
September  15th,  1917. 


Eleanor  originally  had  a  bad  cold,  but  she  has 
succeeded  in  passing  it  on  to  me,  now,  and  is  as 
bright  as  a  button.  We  went  out  for  a  spree  last 
night, — dinner  at  Premiers  and  then  a  French  play. 
It  was  a  farce,  and  "I  give  you  my  word"  it  was 
the  darndest.  I  was  perfectly  weak  from  laugh- 
ing by  the  end  of  it,  but  scandalous  is  no  name. 
[62] 


THE   WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

I  shan't  even  say  anything  about  it — for  you 
couldn't  retail  the  plot  to  anyone.  Then  today, 
after  a  morning  of  business,  I  took  an  afternoon 
off  and  went  shopping  with  Eleanor.  We  started 
out  rather  prosaicly  with  heavy  woolen  under- 
clothes, slippers  and  a  pair  of  boots.  Then  Eleanor 
decided  that  she  wanted  to  give  me  a  wrapper  for 
a  birthday  present.  I  voted  against  a  heavy, 
warm  one,  because  I  felt  that  everything  I  have 
over  here  was  practical  and  suggested  prepara- 
tions for  a  long  stay  in  uniform  in  the  field.  So 
we  went  to  Liberty's  and  I  got — or  rather  chose 
the  material  for — a  silk  one,  rather  like  my  pet 
blue  one  at  home.  It  may  be  a  bad  plan  to  do 
"after  the  war"  shopping,  but  I  want  on  my 
birthday  to  have  things  that  remind  me  of  peace, 
and  not  of  this  war. 


September  20,  1917. 
Thursday. 


I  don't  mind  so  much  an  out  and  out  slacker, 
who  says  he  is  afraid,  or  unwilling  to  go,  but  I 

[C3  1 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


hate  the  one  that  gets  a  bullet-proof  job  in  the 
Red  Cross  or  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  and  then  proceeds  to 
talk  of  "doing  his  bit." 

•  ••••••• 

Monday  afternoon  I  arrived  back  here  again, 
all  prepared  to  leave  at  once  for  the  First  Squad- 
ron. The  Major  met  me  at  the  station,  and  on 
the  way  out  in  the  car  began  talking  to  me  about 
Colonel  Boiling's  visit — he  was  down  at  camp. 
Suddenly  he  said, — "I  gave  you  a  darned  good 
recommendation  to  him,  but  why  are  you  chang- 
ing to  that  other  outfit?  You  don't  gain  much, 
for  you're  getting  some  flying  over  here,  and  the 
experience  you've  gained  in  the  supply  work 
you've  done  here,  is  worth  twice  what  you  can 
get  out  of  the  job  of  plain  flying  lieutenant.'* 

Of  course,  it  was  a  big  surprise  to  me, — but  the 
upshot  was  that  I  agreed  to  put  it  before  the  Colo- 
nel,— Colonel  Boiling  is  second  in  command  of 
American  Air  Service  in  France.  To  my  surprise, 
he  agreed  with  the  Major.  He  said  "the  only 
reason  I  was  transferring  you  was  for  the  flying — 
if  you  are  getting  your  flying  here,  stay  by  all 

[64] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


means.  You  have  apparently  made  a  good  job  of 
this  one, — and  the  reason  I  sent  you  down  in  the 
first  phice,  was  to  give  you  experience.  If  I  were 
you,  I  should  stay,  for  it  will  count  a  good  deal 
more  in  a  man's  favor  if  he  has  made  a  good  job 
of  something  like  this  supply  position  of  yours, 
than  if  he  has  merely  flown  as  junior  lieutenant  in 
a  squadron." 

After  that  of  course  I  stayed,  especially  as  he 
promised  to  put  me  in  a  squadron  at  the  front  as 
soon  as  they  got  started  sending  them  up  there.  I 
am  glad  in  a  way,  for  now  I  know  for  certain  that 
I  shall  not  be  embusqued  here,  and  I  had  become 
quite  attached  to  the  men  working  for  me.  Five 
or  six  of  them  came  round,  when  they  heard  that 
I  was  going  to  go,  and  told  me  that  they  were  very 
sorry  to  hear  it.  My  sergeant  asked  me  to  get  him 
transferred  into  the  outfit  I  was  going  to.  It 
really  made  me  feel  quite — well,  a  lump  in  my 
throat,  if  you  know  the  feeling. 

Last  night, — or  rather  yesterday,  I  received 
orders  to  have  trucks  in  to  receive  about  two 
hundred  men,  coming  from  one  of  the  ports.  I 
[65] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


got  the  trucks  and  went  with  them  myself, — just 
to  be  on  the  safe  side.  I  sat  around  the  station 
till  midnight,  for  the  troops  were  being  sent  in  a 
freight  train,  which  was  late  of  course.  Then  the 
train  appeared,  and  when  I  went  up  to  greet  the 
officer,  who  should  it  be  but  Phil  Carroll,  with  his 
outfit,  just  arrived.  I  nearly  collapsed,  out  of 
combined  surprise  and  satisfaction.  Of  course, 
after  business  was  over,  I  made  him  tell  me  all 
the  news  of  all  Long  Island. 


September  30th,  1917. 
Sunday. 


Today,  being  Sunday,  was  inspection  and  so 
when  it  was  over  I  went  off  to  look  around  the 
country.  It  is  glorious  weather  now, — the  roads 
bright  and  dusty,  with  flurries  of  fallen  leaves 
whirling  across  them,  and  that  feeling  in  the  air 
which  says,  despite  the  golden  countryside,  that 
autumn  is  passing  fast  into  winter.  I  wandered 
where  the  roads  lead  me,  past  little  farm  houses, 
nestling  close  to  great  stacks  of  hay,  and  pleasant 
[66] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

fields  where  the  little  boys  ran  out  from  their 
sheep  to  watch  me  pass,  and  the  sheep  dogs  barked 
disapproval, — past  little  towns,  barely  more  than 
a  cluster  of  houses,  with  their  weather  worn  little 
church,  and  cobble  stoned  streets. 

The  afternoon  was  passing,  and  I  was  begin- 
ning to  think  of  camp  once  more,  when  I  came 
upon  a  somewhat  larger  town, — over  whose  roofs 
I  saw  an  old  tower  rising.  And  so,  as  I  came  op- 
posite I  stopped  to  look  a  minute.  It  had  been 
an  old  chateau, — gone  partly  to  ruin, — and  round 
it  had  grown  the  town, — where  its  front  must 
have  been  was  a  little  inn,  with  the  sign  "Au 
Lion  Noir."  The  old  arch  was  still  there, — 
where  the  knights  went  out  to  battle  in  times 
past, — and  I  could  see  through  it  a  courtyard, 
all  bright  in  the  afternoon  sun,  with  little  tables, 
and  back  of  them  the  old  wall  with  flowers  in 
the  windows, — and  rusted  iron  gratings.  And 
as  I  looked,  out  came  the  inn  keeper,  a  great  blue 
apron  round  him,  to  know  if  I  would  not  stop  and 
have  some  beer, — '^car  vous  devez  avoir  soif  sur  la 
grande  route.'*  And  so  I  came  in  and  sat  in  the 
[07] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


courtyard,  watching  the  pigeons  wheel  and  circle 
back  to  their  nests  in  the  holes  where  the  tower 
roof  had  fallen.  I  was  told  all  about  the  old  tower, 
— how  it  was  old,  very  old, — but  now  fallen  into 
ruin, — save  where  it  was  used  for  the  inn, — even 
the  great  stairway,  whose  rafters  I  could  trace 
along  the  side  of  the  walls,  was  half  gone.  But  yet, 
so  Monsieur  said, — "on  y  est  Men,  mon  cher^\  for  so 
he  called  me, — I  was  ''mon  cher,^^ — an  American 
coming  to  fight  for  France.  And  then,  at  length, 
it  was  time  to  go,  and  I  put  my  hand  in  my  pocket 
to  pay, — when  Monsieur  stopped  me  with  "non, 
non,  non, — il  ne  faut  pas  faire  ga."  Arguments 
were  useless, — and  so  finally  we  parted, — and  just 
as  I  was  going  he  brought  out  a  little  black  brass 
snuff  box,  and  offered  me  some,  which  I  took,  tho 
I  loathed  it.  And  when  I  left  he  told  me  to  re- 
turn, with  my  friends,  and  visit  him  again. 

October  8  and  10,  1917. 

The  flower  I'm  enclosing  is  mimosa.     I  don't 
know  if  it  will  keep  its  perfume,  but  it's  too  lovely 

[C8] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


now.  Yesterday  the  Major  and  an  English  Cap- 
tain who  has  been  reforme  sailed  over  across  the 
bay  to  a  funny  little  bit  of  a  fishing  village. 
There's  the  most  glorious  grove  of  mimosa  there 
— part  of  the  grounds  of  the  parish  church.  Its 
all  in  bloom  now,  golden  yellow  avenues  of  it  with 
a  heavy  sweet  scent  that  fills  the  air.  It  was  a 
hot  afternoon,  with  no  clouds  overhead,  and  down 
in  the  grove,  with  no  noise  of  the  outside  world 
except  the  trickle  of  a  brook  and  the  clatter  of 
an  old  peasant  woman's  sabots  as  she  went  up 
and  down  tending  the  trees,  the  war  seemed  very 
far  away  and  unreal.  No  one  in  the  village 
seemed  to  be  of  this  century  even.  The  tiny 
winding  street  is  made  of  oyster  shells, — and 
bordering  it  were  little,  low,  white  washed  houses 
with  overhanging  eaves.  The  wharf  was  deserted 
except  for  a  few  old  men  in  the  big,  patched 
trousers  they  wear  here,  that  look  like  bloomers, 
— and  where  the  sunlight  came  thru  the  open 
doors  you  could  see  the  polished  brass  candle- 
sticks on  the  mantelpiece,  warm  red  bricks  on  the 
floor,  and  children  playing  in  the  sunlight. 
[69] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


It  was  more  like  a  page  from  a  sketch  book 
than  a  real  place, — and  utterly  apart  from  war, 
and  flying,  with  all  the  hurry  and  noise  of  the 
camp.  We  stopped  at  the  inn — it  was  a  com- 
bination of  inn,  general  store,  social  centre — and 
took  oysters,  for  which  the  town  is  famous,  while 
the  old  proprietress  chattered  around  and  to  us 
like  a  nice,  motherly  old  hen.  She  told  us  that 
the  Ancre  d'Or,  that  was  the  inn's  name,  had  been 
in  their  family  for  over  a  hundred  years, — the 
men  fishing  while  the  women-folk  ran  the  inn. 
Then,  after  complimenting  her  on  her  oysters — 
at  which  she  beamed  all  over — we  left  while  she 
bobbed  "aw  revoir  messieu"*  in  the  doorway. 
"And  so,"  as  Samuel  Pepys  said,  "To  bed." 

The  autumn  is  well  here,  often  two  weeks  of 
dismal,  chilly  rain  and  mist,  and  the  country  side 
is  bright  with  its  brave  resistance  to  the  frosty 
nights.  All  along  the  road  the  trees  are  showing 
brilliant  yellows  and  crimsons,— with  here  and 
there  a  clump  of  somber  pines, — or  a  chateau  on 
the  cliffs,  its  towers  in  sharp  silhouette  against 
the  sky.  The  fallen  leaves  swirl  and  dance  among 
[70] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


the  eddies  of  white  dust  along  the  "grand  routes,** 
— and  everything  and  everyone  seems  to  be  liv- 
ing life  to  its  fullest  before  the  dreary  dark  of  the 
long  winter  nights  set  in.  The  Loire  country 
is  exquisite, — little  chateaux,  and  funny,  ancient 
villages,  that  round  the  ruins  of  some  castle,  or 
else  bustling  modern  cities  like  Nantes, — that 
contrast  strangely, — the  street  cars  and  broad 
asphalt  streets,  with  the  old  castle,  and  its  net 
work  of  narrow  winding  alleys  in  their  midst. 


Aviation  Camp 
November  1,  1917. 

During  the  last  few  weeks  I  have  been  chasing 
all  over  the  lot  and  so  haven't  had  any  chance  to 
write  you  and  tell  you  the  news  of  myself.  Added 
to  that  my  last  letter,  which  I  sent  to  you  by  a 
transport  officer  two  weeks  ago  was  unfortunately 
delayed.  I  found  out  to-day,  just  by  accident, 
that  he  was  in  the  hospital  as  the  result  of  a  too 
protracted  spree,  and  that  his  ship  had  sailed 
without  him,  so  I  shall  have  to  go  back  into  the 
dim  distant  periods  of  the  past  over  two  weeks 
ago  to  tell  you  all  that  has  happened. 
[71] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


In  the  first  place,  I  was  sent  away  from  here 
with  orders  to  go  down  to  one  of  our  ports  of  de- 
barcation  and  take  charge  of  a  lot  of  Hudson 
touring  cars  which  were  to  be  taken  overland  to 
Paris.  I  got  down  there  in  great  spirits,  for  of 
course  it  was  a  regular  spree  to  get  away  from 
this  camp  for  about  a  week  wandering  all  over 
France  in  a  brand  new  touring  car.  However,  I 
found  when  I  got  down  to  the  port  that  things 
weren't  going  to  be  quite  as  easy  as  I  had  thought. 
In  the  first  place  the  cars  weren't  even  unloaded 
from  the  boat,  and  there  didn't  seem  to  be  much 
chance  of  my  getting  them  oflf  for  weeks,  as  the 
stevedores  were  crowded  up  with  work.  After 
one  day  I  decided  that  particular  place  was  no 
sort  of  location  for  me  so  I  began  to  hunt  around 
for  some  way  to  hurry  things  up.  The  captain 
of  the  ship  proved  to  be  the  solution.  She  is  a 
merchant  ship,  taken  over  by  the  government 
for  the  transport  service,  with  the  same  old  mer- 
chant captain.  He  and  I  got  on  excellently — he 
came  from  Arlington,  Mass.,  which  was  an  in- 
stant bond  in  common,  and  so  I  ended  up  by  living 

[72] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

on  the  boat,  and  using  the  ship's  crew  and  winches 
to  unload  and  my  own  men  to  get  the  cars  out, 
so  that  they  were  out  on  the  dock  in  three  days. 
I  had  my  own  truck  men  down  with  me  to  take 
charge  of  them  so  we  got  them  assembled  in  short 
time  and  in  four  days  were  out  on  the  road  again. 
It  was  a  delightful  run  up.  All  thru  Britanny 
and  then  up  the  valley  of  the  Loire.  I  have  got  a 
little  "presink"  for  you  which  I  am  going  to  send 
home  by  the  first  person.  It  is  a  very  cunning 
little  enamel  cross  that  comes  from  Herve  Kiel's 
town, — do  you  remember?  The  valley  of  the 
Loire  is  really  lovely.  I  hadn't  realized  before  how 
lovely  France  was,  for  our  region,  though  it  is 
pretty,  is  very  monotonous,  with  nothing  except 
the  perpetual  run  of  farm  houses — which  you  soon 
become  accustomed  to.  The  Loire  valley  is  all 
different,  though,  for  it  is  never  the  same.  Part 
of  the  time  you  are  driving  high  up  on  the  crest 
of  the  hills,  with  the  Loire  like  a  silver  thread 
dowm  below  you,  and  the  country,  "pleasant 
France,"  spread  beneath  you  with  no  hint  of  the 
war  that  is  raging  in  the  North,  or  again  you  drop 
[73] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


down  into  the  valley  where  you  can  watch  the 
little  towns  and  chateaux  silhouetted  against  the 
sky.  I  saw  so  many  places  that  I  wanted  to  stop 
and  investigate  and  couldn't, — funny  little  towns 
where  the  street  winds  around  between  houses, 
and  under  the  ruined  walls  of  the  chateau  to  which 
the  houses  cling,  or  little  grimy  inns,  "ies  Trois 
Raisins  Noirs,*'  or  "Ze  Cheval  qui  Boite,**  all  of 
which  I  am  sure  had  all  sorts  of  nice  things  in  them 
to  see.  However,  we  could  only  stop  very  occa- 
sionally for  meals,  and  so  I  didn't  get  a  chance  to 
do  much  more  than  see  the  country  as  I  passed 
thru. 

1 1  did  however,  on  the  second  day  get  a  chance 
to  stop  off  at  Chartres  and  burn  a  candle  in  the 
cathedral.  I  had  no  idea  that  the  road  went 
thru  there,  when  all  of  a  sudden  I  saw  off  on  the 
horizon  the  towers  of  a  cathedral  and  thought 
that  it  must  be  that.  So  I  called  a  halt,  and 
while  the  men  went  off  and  got  lunch  I  went  in 
the  cathedral.  Do  you  remember  the  last  time 
we  were  there, — when  I  was  so  busy  trying  to 
find  out  about  the  window,  and  we  went  out  with 
[74] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


Mr.  ThoroQ  ?  Goodness  but  that  seems  ages  and 
ages  ago.  However,  I  finally  got  to  Paris,  and 
arrived  in  on  Eleanor  out  of  a  clear  sky,  to  find 
myself  a  very  welcome  guest  as  she  had  been 
feeling  very  lonely.  The  next  morning  I  reported 
to  headquarters  and  then  went  back  to  Eleanor's 
to  get  over  the  last  of  a  slight  attack  of  some  sort 
of  malaria  that  I  had  contracted  in  the  run  up. 

When  I  reported  to  headquarters  two  days 
later  I  had  the  most  horrid  blow.  I  found  that 
I  was  slated  to  take  a  detachment  of  fifty  men  to 
be  taught  the  supply  officer  job  in  England.  Of 
course  I  kicked.  It  seemed  to  be  getting  too  far 
afield  from  flying  and  too  far  up  in  the  supply 
work  for  me.  However  I  had  no  success  and  went 
down  to  Issoudun  again  feeling  rather  low  about  it. 
Once  down  here  however,  I  found  that  Jim  Miller 
didn't  want  me  to  be  taken  away  and  after  much 
telephoning  to  Paris  I  think  it  has  been  arranged 
that  I  am  to  stay  here.  I  shall  know  to-morrow 
as  I  am  going  up  to  Paris  again. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  I  am  going  to  have  a  bully 
job  here.  There  is  one  of  the  squadrons  here 
[75] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


that  is  all  disorganized.  It  got  over  here  under 
an  officer  who  was  a  poor  bone  head  with  no  idea 
of  how  to  get  on  with  the  men  and  the  result  is 
that  there  is  no  sort  of  morale  to  it  at  all.  The 
men  don't  care  whether  they  are  out  in  the  guard 
house  or  not,  and  they  are  in  a  frightful  state. 
And  yet  they  come  from  the  same  place  as  our 
crowd  and  are  really  exactly  as  good  stuff.  So 
they  are  going  to  put  me  in  command  of  it  here, 
to  see  what  I  can  make  of  it.  I  am  very  much 
pleased,  of  course,  for  if  I  get  away  with  it  it  means 
a  very  big  step  toward  getting  my  own  squadron 
to  take  out  in  the  spring  when  we  start  sending 
our  squadrons  out  to  the  front.  It  also  is  rather 
nice  for  they  were  very  nice  to  me  when  they 
said  that  they  would  put  me  on,  though  they  do 
refer  to  it  as  a  dirty  job.  I  don't  care,  for  I  think 
I  can  make  it.  I  am  going  to  get  about  five  of 
my  old  crew  transferred  to  it  and  then  start  in 
when  I  get  back  from  Paris. 

If  everything  works  all  right  I  am  to  stick  here 
until  they  get  the  other  fields  working,  for  the 
plan  is  to  have  five  fields  working  within  a  radius 
[76] 


THE   WAY  OF  THE   EAGLE 


of  ten  miles,  and  am  then  to  move  over  and  take 
charge  of  one  of  the  outlying  fields.  The  idea  is 
that  they  put  one  squadron  in  each  field,  and  com- 
plete its  training  and  at  the  same  time  get  it 
working  in  together  before  they  send  it  out  to  the 
front.  It  sounds  as  though  it  were  going  to  be  a 
bully  chance  to  get  away  from  any  taint  of  supply 
officer  and  to  get  back  into  the  flying  end  in  the 
right  way.    I  am  very  cheerful. 

December  8,  1917. 

I  am  Commanding  Officer  of  what  is  called 
the  Headquarters  detachment.  It  includes  about 
six  hundred  cadets  and  forty  oflScers.  I  have  to 
see  that  cadet  affairs  work  properly, — ^that  all  the 
officers  do  their  work, — and  most  of  aU,  I  am  the 
one  the  Colonel  hops  on  if  there's  any  complaint 
about  the  cadets.  It  is  really  no  job  for  a  flying 
lieutenant.  In  the  first  place — it  takes  all  of  my 
time, — or  rather  should  take  all  of  it,  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  flying.  And  then,  too,  it  is  pretty  hard 
to  command  and  discipline  thirty  nine  other  first 
[77] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


lieutenants  when  you  are  of  the  same  rank  and 
only  a  few  months  sooner.  I  have  been  working 
nights  on  the  thing  trying  to  get  it  organized, — 
then  stealing  a  couple  of  hours  off  in  the  day  to 
fly.  The  real  trouble  is  that  it  doesn't  get  me  any- 
where. I  supfK)se  it  can  all  be  classed  as  experi- 
ence,— but  I  feel  a  little  as  if  it  were  just  "one  more 
dirty  job." 

My  commanding  officer  now  is  my  old  Mineola 
one, — tho',  which  helps,  for  he  says  he  will  let 
me  get  away  as  soon  as  they  start  sending  any 
men  out  to  the  front.  At  the  moment,  tho',  it 
doesn't  look  as  if  any  of  us  would  get  out  for  a 
couple  of  months.  What  I  am  hoping  is  to  be 
sent  up  in  a  British  squadron  some  time  toward 
the  end  of  January,  but  I  am  not  sure  how  much 
chance  there  is  for  anything  like  that.  What  one 
wants  so  rarely  happens  in  this  army.  At  all 
events,  I  am  now  plugging  along  from  day  to  day, 
doing  my  work,  and  enjoying  my  flying. 

These  little  fast  machines  are  delightful.  You 
feel  so  at  home  in  tliem,  for  there  is  just  room  in 
the  cockpit  for  you  and  your  controls,  and  not 
[78] 


THE   WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


an  inch  more.  And  then  they're  so  quick  to  act. 
Its  not  like  piloting  a  great  lumbering  Curtis, 
for  you  could  do  two  loops  in  a  Nieuport  during 
the  time  it  takes  a  Curtis  to  do  one.  Its  fright- 
fully cold,  now,  tho'.  Even  in  my  teddy-bear, — 
thats  what  they  call  those  aviator  suits, — I  freeze 
pretty  generally,  if  I  try  any  ceiling  work.  If  its 
freezing  down  below  it  is  some  cold  up  about  fif- 
teen thousand.  Aviation  has  considerably  altered 
my  views  on  religion.  I  don't  see  how  the  angels 
stand  it.  Do  you  remember  that  delightful  grey 
muffler  you  made  me?  Its  very  soft,  either  An- 
gora or  camel's  hair  I  think, — and  is  now  doing 
yeoman  duty  bridging  the  gap  between  the  top 
of  my  suit  and  the  bottom  of  my  helmet.  I  think 
it  is  bringing  me  luck,  too,  for  I  am  flying  much 
better,  now  that  I  wear  it  every  day.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  I  am  wearing  just  about  everything  mov- 
able 'round  my  room  now,  and  expect  to  for  the 
next  four  months  or  so. 

'  I  had  an  exciting  time  two  weeks  ago  with  a 
plane.     I  was  taking  off,  and  had  just  got  my 
wheels  clear  when  a  bit  of  mud  got  thrown  against 
[79] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


the  propeller  and  broke  it.  One  of  the  pieces 
went  thru  the  gasoline  tank  and  before  the  wheels 
were  really  down  on  the  ground  again,  or  before 
I  even  had  a  chance  to  cut  the  switch,  the  whole 
thing  was  in  flames.  I  made  a  wild  snatch  at 
my  safety  belt,  got  it  undone,  and  slid  out  of  the 
plane  on  the  doublequick  time.  It  cant  have 
taken  me  more  than  thirty  seconds,  and  yet  when 
I  got  out,  my  boots  and  pant  legs  were  on  fire. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  its  marvellous  the  amount 
you  get  away  with  in  these  planes.  Two  fellows 
in  the  last  week  have  gone  straight  into  the 
ground  in  vrilles,  totally  wrecking  the  plane, — 
and  yet  neither  one  is  seriously  hurt.  The  worst 
one  of  the  two  came  down  about  three  hundred 
feet,  hit  the  ground  so  hard  that  he  pushed  the 
engine  back  where  the  rudder  bar  should  be  and 
the  rudder  bar  under  the  seat, — and  yet  didn't 
break  any  bones.  He  will  be  out  of  the  hospital 
in  three  weeks  they  think.  All  he  got  is  a  couple 
of  bad  cuts  on  his  face  from  the  wind  shield  and  a 
stove-in  chest.  I've  decided  that  nothing  short 
of  shooting  a  man  or  breaking  a  control  is  fatal ! 


[80] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

December  16 
Here  goes  for  a  very  long  letter,  full  of  all  sorts 
of  news,  for  I've  just  met  the  man  who  was  sup- 
posed to  take  my  last  long  letter  home.  He  was 
an  officer  on  one  of  our  ships,  whom  I  happened 
to  know,  and  is  back  in  Paris  now,  for  his  ship — 
and  my  letter  were  sunk.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  this 
is  the  first  chance  I've  had  to  write  for  I  really 
have  been  busy.  At  the  moment  tho'  I  am  con- 
fined to  bed,  the  result  of  a  mild  attack  of  pneu- 
monia. I  had  had  a  cough  for  a  month,  which 
suddenly  developed  into  that.  I'm  sorry,  for  I've 
lots  of  work  to  do, — but  its  a  rather  pleasant 
rest. 

To  begin  'way  back — after  I  got  back  from 
my  work  of  taking  cars  to  Paris,  I  found  that  I 
had  another  job  waiting  for  me.  I  was  put  in 
command  of  a  squadron  in  quarantine  for  mumps. 
They  had  been  under  a  bad  C.  O.  and  were  pretty 
thoroly  disorganized.  I  had  Ham  Coolidge  for 
my  second  in  command  and  two  other  very  nice 
fellows  from  out  West.  I  followed  the  Brushwood 
Boy's  principle  of  sweating  the  fat  off  'em  and  the 
beef  on.  First  I  put  in  two  days  making  them  clean 
[811 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


out  their  barracks,  and  fix  things  up  generally. 
Then  I  took  them  out  and  drilled  and  hiked  until 
I  know  I  was  good  and  tired  so  I  rather  think  they 
were.  It  worked  like  a  charm,  tho',  for  after  about 
two  weeks  they  were  all  in  fine  shape.  Really, 
the  American  of  the  mechanic  class  is  a  pretty 
fine  specimen,  I  think.  You  see  all  the  mechanics, 
— the  skilled  labor,  has  gone  into  the  aviation  ser- 
vice,— so  you  do  get  a  good  crowd.  At  all  events, 
just  about  the  time  I  had  got  them  really  going, 
another  reorganisation  hit  us. 

That  has  been  the  trouble  all  along  in  the  Air 
Service.  The  first  lot  of  regulars  that  they  sent 
over  here  in  the  aviation  weren't  much.  They 
were  mostly  men  who  had  not  made  themselves 
useful  enough  in  the  States  to  keep  them.  They 
got  over  here,  and  found  that  the  reserve  oflScers 
who  had  been  sent  were  a  far  more  capable  crowd. 
Then,  instead  of  turning  in  and  trying  to  work 
together  as  far  as  possible  they  tried  to  buck  the 
reserves.  You  see,  nearly  all  of  them — the  regu- 
lars I  mean — came  over  here  as  captains,  and  as 
they  are  now  either  majors  or  colonels, — they've 
[82] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

gone  promotion  wild.  They  have  been  hanging 
on,  trying  to  prove  that  the  reserve  officers  were 
useless.  We  had  about  three  months  of  that, 
and  then,  thank  heaven,  Washington  realized 
what  was  going  on,  and  sent  over  a  complete  new 
organisation. 

(The  letter  at  that  moment  was  interrupted  by 
Major  Goldthwaite,  who  came  in  and  blew  the 
roof  off  me  for  trying  to  write  or  do  anything  like 
that.     This  is  continued  two  days  later.) 

I  have  just  started  to  really  convalesce,  and 
am  being  allowed  to  read  and  write  again.  I  was 
really  quite  sick  for  a  while,  a  good  deal  sicker 
than  I  tliought  I  was,  and  so,  as  soon  as  my  tem- 
perature began  to  go  down  again  I  thought  I  was 
good  for  letter  writing  and  reading.  The  medico 
sat  on  that  scheme,  tho,  so  to-day  is  my  first  day 
of  doing  anytliing  at  all  for  ten  days.  I  am  to 
be  kept  in  bed  here  until  I  am  well  enough  to 
make  the  trip  safely,  and  then  am  to  be  sent  up 
for  a  two  weeks'  sick  leave,  when  I  shall  see  Elea- 
nor in  Paris,  and  get  all  fixed  up  again. 

We  have  now  got  a  real  man  size  organisation 
[83] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


over  here  now,  and  it  has  struck  our  school  down 
here,  for  we  now  have  my  old  Mineola  K.  O.  He  has 
made  the  most  tremendous  difference  to  the  place. 
He  was  responsible  for  my  last  change  in  job,  tho. 
Just  after  he  came  here,  when  they  made  the  new 
organisation,  he  made  me  commanding  officer  of 
what  is  known  officially  as  the  headquarters  de- 
tachment. That  consists  of  all  the  cadets  and 
some  fifty  officers.  You  probably  don't  know 
what  the  cadets  are,  as  no  one  back  in  the  states, 
including  the  war  department,  seems  to  have  any 
very  definite  idea  about  them.  The  original  idea 
was  that,  as  all  fliers  were  to  be  officers,  all  fly- 
ing students  should  be  cadets.  Its  a  good  idea, 
too, — ^I  wish  they'd  had  it  when  I  was  at  Mineola, 
for  I'd  have  gotten  a  hundred  dollars  a  month  in- 
stead of  forty.  At  all  events  the  edict  went 
forth  that  all  students  were  cadets. 

Then  some  lunatic  got  the  idea  that  there  was 
a  crying  need  for  pilots  over  here,  that  we  were 
ready  for  six  hundred  students  a  month,  and 
some  other  pipe  dream,  so  they  started  shipping 
over  untrained  cadets  by  the  hundred  to  France. 

[84] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


Of  course  we  have  no  earthly  means  of  coping 
with  them,  and  never  wanted  them  in  the  first 
place.  What  with  the  troubles  we  have  had  in 
getting  construction  gangs  and  materials,  I  doubt 
if  this  school  will  be  ready  for  six  hundred  pilots 
by  next  June,  let  alone  six  hundred  a  month  now. 
What  is  more,  and  what  they  didn't  seem  to  realize 
back  in  Washington,  we  are  an  advanced  school, 
and  have  no  facilities  for  training  beginners.  Con- 
sequently, we  have  now  about  six  hundred  non- 
flying  cadets  here  with  nothing  in  the  world  for 
them  to  do,  and  apparently  no  chance  of  their 
flying  in  the  next  couple  of  months. 

The  Colonel,  when  he  put  me  in  command, 
told  me  I  was  to  try  and  get  things  straightened 
out  as  far  as  possible,  and  then  make  a  detailed 
report  on  the  state  of  things.  I  started  in  and 
found  I  was  up  against  a  most  tremendous  job. 
The  cadets  had  no  organisation  at  all.  They 
were  being  used  for  guard  duty,  and  nothing  else, 
and  there  is  nothing  more  demoralizing  for  a  lot 
of  men  than  doing  guard  under  frightful  condi- 
tions, and  nothing  else.  I  started  in,  and  after 
[85] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


two  days,  sent  in  a  report  as  long  as  a  presidential 
message,  asking  that  more  enlisted  men  be  detailed 
to  relieve  the  guard,  that  arrangements  be  made  to 
ship  off  cadets  to  preliminary  schools  if  possible, 
and  that  if  there  were  any  vacancies  for  non  flying 
commissions  in  the  air  service,  they  be  issued  to 
cadets  on  a  competitive  examination. 

Then  I  got  together  the  officers,  and  picked 
out  six  assistants  who  I  knew  would  work  and 
were  good  fellows,  and  arranged  that  the  seven 
of  us  be  excused  from  regular  flying  formations. 
Thus  we  could  work  at  the  cadets  and  tuck  in 
our  flying  whenever  we  had  a  spare  moment. 
Then  we  divided  them  up  into  organisations  of 
two  hundred  and  fifty  and  started  to  lick  them 
into  some  sort  of  military  shape.  Outside  of  the 
non-fliers,  I  now  have  one  hundred  and  fifty  fliers, 
and  twenty  navy  fliers — ^known  unofficially  as 
the  flying  fish — and  we  have  got  them  working 
out  fairly  well,  tho  its  a  pretty  unsatisfactory 
situation  at  best.  I  know  if  I  were  a  cadet  I 
should  feel  justified  in  kicking,  if,  after  being  en- 
listed because  I  had  a  college  education  and  was 
reconmiended  by  all  sorts  of  people  as  good  avia- 
[86] 


TtiE    WAY    Ut'  THE   EAGLE 


lion  material,  I  was  used  as  a  guard  for  an  avia- 
tion canij)  with  the  prospect  of  flying  in  four  or 
five  months. 

The  doctor  has  come  in  and  ordered  me  to  lie 
down  again,  so  I  must  stop.  I  have  been  a  per- 
fect pig  about  not  writing  more,  and  from  now  on 
you  will  see  a  vast  change  in  the  news  from  me, 
for  I  have  loved  your  letters.  The  trouble  is  that 
writing  home  makes  me  get  gloomy,  for  then  you 
start  looking  at  the  war  as  a  whole, — an  impossible 
system.  I  have  given  it  up  entirely,  and  take  it 
day  by  day.  The  only  reall}'  satisfactory  thing  is 
that  flying  is  wonderful  fun  on  these  new  machines. 
I  wish  you  could  see  them.  We  can  do  stunts  that 
you  would  think  were  impossible  after  watching  a 
Curtis  wallow  along  thru  the  air. 

The  doctor  is  in  again. 

Lots  of  love,  and  I'll  write  again  as  soon  as 
I'm  out  of  the  hospital,  ^ 

QUENT. 

December  18,  1917. 
I  am  in  the  hospital,  the  result  of  a  mild  case 
of  pneumonia.      You   see,   I   have   been   trailing 
around  here  thru  mud  and  cold,  and  draughty, 

[87] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


iinheated  barracks  for  the  last  month  with  a  tre- 
mendous cold  and  cough.  About  three  weeks 
ago  it  got  pretty  bad,  but  as  I  had  lots  of  work 
on  hand  and  no  one  else  that  I  wanted  to  do  it, 
I  kept  on  going.  About  a  week  and  a  half  ago 
it  really  began  to  hit  me,  and  I  turned  into  bed 
one  night  with  a  fever  of  one  hundred  and  four. 
There  was  no  place  in  the  hospital — our  camp 
has  still  slightly  elementary  sides  to  it,  and  so  I 
stayed  here  in  the  officers  barracks  in  my  room, 
under  the  charge  of  one  of  the  doctors,  being 
fed  by  the  Red  Cross,  embodied  by  Miss  Given- 
wilson.  I  was  pretty  sick  for  a  couple  of  days, 
but  now  I'm  well  on  the  road  to  recovery.  As 
soon  as  I  am  well  enough  I  am  to  be  sent  off  on  a 
two  weeks  leave  to  recuperate,  which  I  will  start 
with  Eleanor  at  Paris.  I  have  written  father  a 
long  letter  just  yesterday,  so  some  of  this  may  be 
repetition. 

I  am  rather  sorry  to  have  to  leave  for  so  long 
just  at  this  moment,  as  both  my  flying  and  my 
other  job  are  very  interesting.  However,  there's 
lots  of  war  left  to  go  round  for  all  of  us,  I'm  think- 

[88] 


THE   WAY  OF  THE   EAGLE 

ing.  I  wish  you  could  see  the  flying  we  are  doing 
over  here,  though,  for  it  is  a  revelation  to  the 
Mineola  educated  eye.  When  I  first  got  over  here 
I  wondered  why  every  flier  was  not  killed  within 
the  first  three  months  of  his  flying.  Now  I  have 
changed  so  far  the  other  way  that  I  feel  as  though 
a  man  could  hardly  drive  one  of  these  machines 
into  an  accident,  short  of  completely  losing  his 
head. 

We  have  had  very  good  luck  so  far  on  this  field, 
and  tho  we  have  had  a  good  many  pretty  nasty 
smashes,  no  one  has  been  killed  yet,  or  even  per- 
manently injured.  And  yet  the  French  monitors 
make  us  do  all  the  wild  flying  stunts  that  were 
considered  tom  fool  tricks  back  home.  Forma- 
tion flying  is  the  prettiest,  tho.  They  send  about 
seven  machines  up  at  a  time,  to  practice  squadron 
and  formation  flying;  vol  de  groupe  they  call  it. 
It  looks  fairly  easy,  too,  but  when  you  get  up  in 
the  air  trying  to  keep  a  hundred  and  twenty  horse 
power  kite  in  its  position  in  a  V  formation  with 
planes  on  either  side  of  you,  you  begin  to  hold 
different  ideas  as  to  its  easiness. 
[89] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


I  am  rather  tireder  than  I  thought  I  was,  so  I 
shall  stop,  and  write  to  you  soon  again. 

QUENTIN. 


Friday,  Dec.  28,  1917. 
Obviously  on  the  train. 


I  did  not  write  till  today,  for  even  tho'  I  was 
with  Eleanor,  Christmas  was  ghastly.  It  was  the 
first  Christmas  I  had  ever  spent  away  from  home 
in  my  life,  and  there  was  nothing  to  help  it  out. 

At  the  moment,  I  am  bounding  south  to  get 
some  warm  weather.  The  prospect  is  discouraging. 
I  stayed  in  Paris  as  long  as  I  could,  with  Eleanor, 
and  was  finally  ordered  out  by  the  medico.  At  the 
last  minute  two  of  Eleanor's  workers  got  sick,  so 
she  couldn't  come,  and  I  am  now  gloriously  en- 
sconsed  in  one  of  those  gilded  horrors  that  the 
trustful  Frenchman  considers  a  "wagon  lit,''  try- 
ing to  persuade  myself  that  a  temperature  cold 
enough  to  make  one  see  one's  breath  is  a  pleasant 
vacation.  I  suggested  a  little  heat  in  the  car,  but 
the  cold  hearted  lady  who  rules  the  car  informed 
that  "c'esi  la  guerre,''  a  fact  of  which  I  was  al- 

[90] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


ready  dinil;^'  aware, — and  then  retired  to  her  little 
stove  at  the  back  of  ear. 

I  think  I  have  at  last  managed  to  pry  myself 
away  from  that  beastly  camp.  I  had  it  all  ar- 
ranged that  I  was  to  go  up  with  an  R.N.A.S. 
squadron,  and  just  at  the  last  moment  it  was  sat 
on  by  headquarters,  on  the  grounds  that  it  was 
not  part  of  their  scheme.     Their  scheme  ! 

— Off  the  train  and  at  Marseilles — 

The  trouble  with  their  scheme  is  that  it  bar- 
gains for  a  vast  development,  not  to  come  to  the 
height  of  its  power  until  next  August  at  the  earliest, 
and,  unless  I  miss  my  bet,  the  Bosche  is  going  to 
do  his  very  best  to  finish  the  war,  and  incidentally, 
the  Americans  now  in  it,  this  spring.  And  spring, 
in  the  military  sense,  is  fairly  close.  I've  got  a 
hunch  that  within  six  weeks  or  so  things  are  going 
to  be  just  about  as  hot  up  on  the  front  as  they 
have  been  since  the  Marne  or  Verdun.  And,  con- 
sequently, I  rather  hope  I  shall  be  in  a  French 
squadron  within  three  weeks.  I  would  have  to 
have  ten  days  machine  gun  work  at  Cazeau,  but 
after  that — Anyway,  I'm  dead  sick  of  being  in  the 
L.  of  C,  to  all  intents  and  purposes  as  much  of  an 
[91] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


embusce  as ,  or .     There's  one  thing — if 

I  change  camps  at  all,  after  Cazeau,  it  will  be  for 
the  front.  Once  I  have  got  there  I  shall  feel  a  lot 
easier  in  my  mind, — for  it  will  be  six  months  since 
I  left  you,  pretty  soon,  and  for  all  I  have  done  to 
help  the  war  I  might  have  stayed  at  home. 

I  wish  you'd  tell  the  Hon.  Pa,  that  if  any  of 
the  big  bugs  happen  to  be  talking  of  it, — its  a 
darned  shame  if  they  cut  out  fliers  extra  pay. 
General  Pershing  cabled  advising  it,  because  the 
aviation  Headquarters  is  in  very  wrong  with 
him, — ^but  all  that  it  does  is  make  us  the  goats 
because  the  man  higher  up  made  mistakes.  Both 
British  and  French  pay  their  fliers  extra, — the 
British  68%, — while  we  only  get  25%,  which  they 
want  to  take  away.  And  it's  not  true  that  it's 
easier  than  the  infantry, — look  at  the  number  of 
pilots,  and  the  number  of  casualties.  , 

•  ••••••• 

"January  7,  1918. 

Next    day    we   took    an   afternoon   off,  for  I 
wanted  to  go  to  Notre  Dame  des  Vidoires.     I've 
always  intended  to,  for  it's  the  church  to  which  all 
[92] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


the  poilus  go  just  before  they  return  to  the  front. 
It  really  is  quite  thrilling.  You  come  in,  and  at 
first  can't  see  very  much,  as  there's  semi-darkness 
inside.  Then  as  your  eyes  get  accustomed  you 
can  make  out  the  people.  There  were  no  lights 
except  at  the  altar, — which  was  ablaze  with  can- 
dles. Eleanor  and  I  each  lit  our  candle,  and  then 
went  back  to  sit  for  a  moment  and  watch.  There 
was  no  service  going  on;  it  was  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon,  and  yet  the  church  was  full  of  people, 
— all  come  to  pray  for  victory.  We  sat  for  a 
while  and  then,  gradually,  I  began  to  distinguish 
things, — for  the  brightness  of  the  altar  only  em- 
phasized the  gloom  around.  All  around  the  walls, 
in  cases,  were  rows  upon  rows  of  medals, — legion 
d'honneur,  croix  de  guerre,  and  others  I  did  not 
recognise, — in  some  there  were  crossed  swords, 
and  old  flags, — all  given  in  thanks  for  victory, 
and  safe  return  from  the  wars. 

•  ••••••« 

January  15, 1918. 

After  all  the  excitement,  and  worrying,  and  dis- 
cussing, I  am  on  my  way  back  to  my  same  old 

[93] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


camp.  I  don't  know  how  long  I  shall  stay  there, — 
I  don't  know  anything  about  what  is  going  to  be 
done  with  me,  and  nobody  else  does.  I  have 
finally  given  up,  in  despair,  all  attempt  to  squeeze 
any  definite  information  out  of  the  casual  mob 
that  constitutes  our  headquarters.  The  future  is 
crammed  with  any  number  of  possibilities,  most 
of  them  highly  discouraging.  I  shall  know  a  little 
more  by  to-night,  when  I  have  seen  Ham  and 
Cord,  so  I'll  either  write  you  again  or  lengthen 
this. 

Of  course  I  hated  leaving  Eleanor's  to  come 
back  to  the  same  dingy  old  camp,  where  I'll  be 
cold,  wet,  and  muddy  most  of  the  time.  And  then, 
Eleanor  has  been  so  very  nice.  You  don't  know 
what  a  trump  she  is.  During  this  last  long  stay  I 
really  got  to  know  her  quite  well, — and  we  had  a 
very  particularly  nice  time  playing  around  and 
doing  all  sorts  of  impossible  things.  Poor  thing, 
— it's  hard  being  so  near  and  yet  so  far  from  Ted. 
And  then,  the  time  when  he  will  begin  his  very 
dangerous  work  is  coming  very  near. 

Wliy,  why  don't  the  people  at  home  realise 
[94] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

what  lies  before  them  ?  I  have  been  reading  the 
papers  from  the  states  lately,  and  it  is  painful. 
Our  policy  seems  to  be  one  of  verbal  camouflage. 
The  little  tin-god  civilians  and  army  fossils  that 
sit  in  Washington  seem  to  do  nothing  but  lie, — 
about  German  weakness, — which  is  easy,  for  they 
have  never  been  in  touch  with  the  realness  of 
German  strength, — and  about  our  own  strength, 
which  is  inexcusable.  They've  all  seen  the  re- 
ports of  how  things  go  over  here, — and  yet  they 
choose  to  lie,  deliberately  and  publicly,  about 
them.  I  saw  one  official  statement  about  the 
hundred  squadrons  we  are  forming  to  be  on  the 
front  by  June.  That  doesn't  seem  funny  to  us 
over  here, — it  seems  criminal,  for  they  will  expect 
us  to  produce  the  result  that  one  hundred  squad- 
rons would  have.  The  one  comforting  thing  is 
that  all  the  rest  of  the  services  are  as  badly  off. 

There's  one  good  thing  about  going  to  the 
front — I  shall  be  so  busy  worrying  about  the  safety 
of  my  own  neck  that  I  shan't  have  time  to  worry 
about  the  way  the  war  is  going. 

I  only  hope  I'll  get  up  there  soon — it  seems 
[95  1 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


such  a  solution  for  all  sorts  of  difficulties.  You 
get  clear  of  all  the  little  worries  and  jealousies  that 
fill  up  life  behind  the  lines,  and  you  have  only  the 
big  eventuality  to  face, — aU  the  others  arrange 
for  themselves  if  you  are  fighting.  And  then,  I 
feel  I  owe  it  to  the  family — to  father,  and  especially 
to  Arch  and  Ted  who  are  out  there  already  and 
facing  the  dangers  of  it,  to  get  out  myself. 


January  17th,  1918. 

•  ••••••• 

Things  have  cheered  up  a  lot  since  last  I 
wrote  you.  I  knew  they  would.  This  place  is  a 
squalid  hole  to  come  back  to,  and  I  knew  that  first 
day  would  be  awful,  and  so  it  was.  And  so  I  wrote 
to  you,  because  I  was  discouraged  and  writing  you 
helps.  By  now,  however,  I  have  gotten  settled 
into  my  work,  and  there  is  nothing  so  narrowing  as 
one's  own  job.  So  I  have  religiously  resolved  to 
look  at  nothing  but  the  immediate  future.  Of 
course  I  know  how  bad  it  all  is, — but  I'm  trying 
to  forget  it  for  this  little  space. 

[96] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


My  leave  has  shown  its  effects  in  my  flying. 
Just  before  I  left  I  was  really  doing  very  badly. 
Now,  however,  I  am  flying  really  pretty  well,  and 
it  has  become  fun  again,  not  work.  If  I  keep  on  as 
I  am  now  I  shall  be  ready  for  the  front  in  three 
weeks,  and  then  I  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  get  out. 
Of  course  it  will  be  at  least  a  month  before  I  get 
to  the  front, — but  still  it's  encouraging  to  think 
I'm  getting  appreciably  nearer.  The  scheme  now 
is  to  put  us  up  for  six  months, — by  us  I  mean 
Cord,  Ham  and  all  our  crowd  who  have  been  work- 
ing here  at  the  school.  Then,  if  we  are  still  alive, 
— we  will  be  taken  back  here  to  work  behind  the 
lines,  for  six  months  fighting  will  use  us  up  pretty 
thoroly  and  we  will  need  the  rest  of  work  behind 
the  lines.  It's  a  good  idea,  and  perfectly  true, — so 
I  have  firmly  decided  not  to  get  shot  down  dur- 
ing my  first  six  months.  I  hope  the  war  is  over 
before  I  have  a  second  !  ! 

This  letter  is  scrawly  and  scratchy  because  it  is 

written  on  a  little  wooden  bench  while  I  wait  for 

Cord.     We  are  going  to  dinner  tonight  and  have 

had  about  fifteen  different  delays,     I  rather  expect 

[97] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


to  go  out  to  one  of  the  outlying  fields  pretty  soon, 
and  as  Cord  is  in  charge  of  one,  I  am  arranging  to 
move  over  to  his.  So  I've  been  doing  a  good  deal 
of  tearing  around. 

Camp  is  a  good  deal  the  same  as  ever, — by 
that  meaning  muddy  and  dingy.  A  mid-winter 
thaw  has  contributed  largely  to  the  mud.  How- 
ever, it  makes  altitude  flying  a  lot  easier  on  us. 
I  have  to  do  a  five  thousand  meter  altitude  test, 
so  I  speak  feelingly. 

'  Same  Old  Camp,  January  22. 

I  have  loved  all  your  letters,  and  only  wish 
there  were  something  I  could  do  about  the  ones  I 
write.  I  know  they  are  unutterably  dull  and 
umnteresting,  but  somehow,  I  don't  seem  to  be 
able  to  write  interesting  ones,  principally,  I  sup- 
pose, because  the  things  I  am  doing  are  not  very 
much  different,  except  as  far  as  the  types  of 
planes  we  are  using,  from  what  is  being  done  at 
any  of  the  camps  at  home. 

I  am  very  busy  at  the  moment  finishing  up  my 
flying.  I  at  last  succeeded  in  getting  permission  to 
[98]  ~ 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

do  nothing  but  fly,  as  the  doctor  said  that  I  would 
have  to  be  on  Hght  duty  if  I  went  back  to  the  camp 
at  all.  The  result  has  been  that  for  the  last  week 
I  have  flown  practically  all  the  time,  and  am  now 
going  to  go  over  to  Cord  Meyer's  field  to  finish  up 
with  my  combat  work  and  group  flying  on  ma- 
chines of  a  type  that  are  still  in  use  at  the  front. 
I  expect  to  have  a  bully  time,  and  tho  I  rather 
hate  to  be  doing  nothing  at  all,  yet  there  is  a 
glorious  sense  of  relief,  when  you  aren't  feeling 
very  well,  to  know  that  you  have  no  earthly 
responsibilities  except  keeping  your  neck  intact 
when  you  are  flying. 

I  had  ratlier  a  hard  time  with  my  flying  last 
week,  thanks  to  having  been  sick,  for  I  had  to 
do  my  acrobatics,  which  is  rather  scary  even 
when  you  are  feeling  thoroly  fit.  As  I  wasn't 
I  hated  to  have  to  get  into  a  machine  and  go  up 
and  do  my  stunts,  for  the  work  they  give  us  here 
in  acrobacy  is  certainly  wicked.  They  have 
one  that  they  call  a  glissade  that  is  the  fastest 
thing  I  have  ever  run  into  in  my  life.  You  bank 
your  machine  up  perpendicularly  and  then  with 
[99] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


your  motor  turning  up  at  about  three  quarters 
speed,  so  as  to  keep  the  nose  of  the  machine  up, 
you  slip  perpendicularly  down  toward  the  ground. 
Its  far  faster  than  a  straight  nose  dive,  for  you 
haven't  got  all  the  head  resistance  of  the  wings 
to  hinder  you.  I  got  into  it,  and  after  coming 
down  three  hundred  meters,  in  it,  got  over  onto 
my  back,  and,  as  I  was  all  mixed  up  as  to  my 
whereabouts,  didn't  have  the  slightest  idea  of 
where  I  was  or  anything.  I  got  down  to  within 
about  a  hundred  metres  of  the  earth  before  I 
finally  did  get  over  onto  my  right  side  again^ 

I  will  be  all  right  now  tho,  for  I  know  how  to 
do  the  various  stunts,  and  I  won't  feel  that  I 
have  to  do  things  I  don't  know  anything  about. 
I  am  going  to  get  to  work  on  them  again  next 
week,  and  get  them  perfected,  for  even  tho  you 
don't  use  all  of  them  on  the  front,  they  are  enor- 
mously valuable,  because  they  give  you  absolute 
confidence  in  your  machine,  and  teach  you  how 
to  get  out  of  any  kind  of  difficulty  you  happen 
to  get  into. 

I  suppose  things  are  sliding  along  at  home  in 
[100] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


their  usual  slip  shod  fashion,  and  that  we  are  some- 
how getting  our  things  ready  to  make  some  sort 
of  effort  toward  becoming  a  factor  in  the  war.  It 
is  a  little  discouraging  to  us  over  here,  though,  to 
pick  up  a  New  York  paper  and  read  a  statement 
that  the  Production  Board  has  put  out  saying 
that  the  work  toward  getting  a  fleet  of  two  thou- 
sand and  ten  thousand  fliers  at  the  front  is  pro- 
gressing very  rapidly.  Considering  the  fact  that 
all  our  flying  for  the  next  spring  and  early  sum- 
mer will  have  to  be  done  on  French  made  ma- 
chines supplied  to  us  thru  the  courtesy  of  the 
French  government,  I  wish  someone  who  knew 
the  truth  would  get  up  and  say  what  liars  they  are. 
I  suppose  that  they  consider  it  satisfactory  if  we 
have  the  two  thousand  planes  by  the  fall  of  1919. 
The  French  are  beginning  to  see  how  much  talk 
there  was  in  a  good  deal  of  what  we  said.  They 
grant  us  only  one  thing,  good  material.  For  the 
rest,  they  are  turning  back  again  and  making 
plans  to  count  on  us  at  least  six  months  later 
than  they  had  expected  from  what  we  promised 
them. 

[101] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


In  Camp,  January  23,  1918. 

Again  a  long  gap  between  letters; — I'm  afraid 
that  I  have  lost  my  former  faculty  for  writing 
letters.  Somehow,  when  I  have  any  time  to 
myself,  I  always  seem  to  either  have  some  sort 
of  official  correspondence  to  write,  like  letters  to 
the  adjutant  general's  office,  or  else  I  am  just 
plain  tired  out,  and  know  the  letter  would  be 
dull,  uninteresting,  and  probably  gloomy. 

As  you  may  gather  from  the  heading,  I  am 
back  in  camp  again.  I  left  Eleanor's  just  a  week 
ago.  I  could  have  stayed  away  on  leave  for  two 
weeks  longer, — Major  Goldthwaite  told  me  that 
I  ought  to, — but  just  at  that  moment  Warrington 
came  back  with  the  news  that  Ted  and  Arch  were 
going  up  very  shortly,  so  I  decided  to  take  a 
chance  and  go  back  here  as  I  was  in  order  to  get 
my  training  finished,  and  get  out.  So  I  trotted 
back,  and  arrived  as  usual,  in  a  pouring  rain  storm. 

This  is  really  the  muddiest  country  I  have  ever 
run  across  in  my  life.  I  don't  see  why  the  French- 
men don't  turn  into  frogs,  by  natural  selection, 
[102] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


after  a  thousand  years  of  it.  However,  the  camp 
is  beginning  to  really  get  whipped  into  shape. 
Tlic  flying  training  has  become  more  or  less  routine, 
and  the  construction  is  about  half  finished.  When 
I  got  back,  I  was  marked  unfit  for  anything  except 
light  duty,  so  I  was  relieved  of  all  duties  other 
than  flying,  which  was  what  I  had  been  working 
for.  Naturally,  my  flying  improved  about  fifty 
percent,  for  you  can't  fly  and  have  your  mind  on 
something  else  at  the  same  time.  The  result  is 
that  I  am  moving  out  to  the  pcrfectiomieTnent 
school  to-morrow,  and  in  three  weeks  at  the  out- 
side, will  have  finished  my  flying  and  be  ready 
to  go  for  my  machine  gun  work,  and  then  the 
front.  The  French  machine  gun  course  at  Cazeau 
takes  about  ten  days,  so  I  think  I  can  count  on 
the  front  in  a  month,  for  they  have  promised  to 
send  me  out  as  soon  as  I  am  ready. 

I  shall  have  a  very  good  time  for  the  next  three 
weeks  too,  for  the  field  I  am  going  to  is  run  by 
Cord  Meyer.  Consequently  it  is  all  arranged 
that  I  am  to  move  in  and  room  with  him  as  soon 
as  I  get  there,  and  generally  have  a  good  time. 
[103] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


We  have  evolved  a  system  for  giving  ourselves 
a  good  time  when  we  are  not  working  that  goes 
like  a  charm.  All  the  planes  over  at  that  field 
are  the  little  monoplane  fighters,  and  consequently 
very  fast.  So  we  have  arranged  when  we  have 
a  day  off, — and  unless  there  has  been  bad  weather 
during  the  week,  there  is  no  flying  or  work,  other 
than  the  necessary  inspections  on  Sunday, — we 
go  off  on  voyages.  He  takes  his  plane,  and  I 
take  mine,  and  we  go  off  to  some  one  of  the  French 
landing  fields  within  a  hundred  or  so  miles  of 
here.  It  is  good  fun,  and  also  good  flying  prac- 
tise, for  the  more  time  you  get  in  the  air,  the  better 
you  are  off,  I  have  decided. 

I  have  just  finished  up  my  acrobacy,  doing  it 
all  in  one  day.  It  was  rather  strenuous,  and  I 
don't  mind  saying  that  I  hope  I  don't  get  many 
more  days  like  that.  To  begin  with,  the  day  be- 
fore, I  had  taken  an  altitude  test,  going  up  to  four 
thousand  metres,  and  staying  there  for  fifteen 
minutes.  I  did  it  all  right,  but  thanks  to  having 
just  gotten  over  being  sick,  it  got  to  my  lungs 
rather,  and  I  picked  up  a  bad  cough  and  had 
[104] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


rather  a  hard  time  breathing.  The  doctor  says 
that  I  will  probably  be  that  way  for  a  month 
more,  but  as  it  doesn't  bother  me  under  three  thou, 
and  I  won't  have  to  do  any  ceiling  work  now  until 

I  get  to  the  front,  I  don't  particularly  care. 

The  doctor  just  happened  along,  and  as  I  am  not 
supposed  to  stay  up  after  9.30  at  the  moment,  has 
packed  me  off  to  bed.  I  shall  write  again  as  soon 
as  I  get  over  to  the  other  field.  Best  love  to  all 
the  family,  and  "un  bon  baiser"  to  you,  mother 
dear,  from 


QUENTIN. 


Romorantin 
January  27,  1918. 


I  am  over  at  Cord's  field  now,  and  will, — with 
any  luck — be  ready  for  my  machine  gun  work  in 
two  weeks.  After  that  it's  a  question  of  getting 
myself  grafted  out  of  the  school — which  I  think  I 
can  manage.  The  flying  is  wonderful,  tho',  with 
these  new  machines  I  don't  like  it,  from  the  point 
of  view  of  personal  comfort,  for  the  motors  are 
much  harder  to  manage.  You  have  the  same 
[105] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


plane, — practically,  with  one  hundred  and  twenty 
horse  instead  of  eighty, — and  for  some  reason  the 
one  hundred  and  twenty  motor  is  much  harder 
to  keep  running.  It's  very  easy  to  stall  it  when 
you're  doing  stunts  and  almost  impossible  to 
catch  it  again.  Generally  a  stalled  motor  means 
a  landing  wherever  you  happen  to  be,  with  these 
birds.  The  thing  that  makes  up  for  it  is  the 
power  you  get.  You  can  climb  at  the  most 
astonishing  rate, — and  do  perfectly  wicked  "chan- 
delles.**  A  chandelle, — in  case  I  haven't  told  you 
about  one,  is  a  steep  climb  in  a  vertical  turn.  It's 
very  hard  to  do  well,  wonderful  fun  when  you  can 
do  it,  and  most  important  for  fighting  when  you 
get  out  there.  I  am  practising  a  lot  on  all  of  them, 
and  getting  in  about  three  hours  flying  a  day, — 
which  is  about  all  you  can  comfortably  stand. 
As  it  is  I'm  always  glad  when  I  get  into  my  ancient 
sleeping  bag,  and  settle  down  for  a  night's  rest. 

In  camp,  on  the  29th  of  Jaxiuary. 
Such  a  funny,  and  rather  a  pleasant  thing  has 
happened, — all  at  once  to-day  I  got  a  whole  lot 
[106] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


of  packages  in  a  lump.  I  think  they  must  have 
been  missent,  or  else  held  at  the  Post  Office  thru 
some  mistake.  At  all  events  there  were  all  sorts 
of  things.  (This,  by  the  way,  is  being  type- 
written under  diflSculties,  as  I  have  the  typewriter 
on  my  knees,  and  no  light  worth  speaking  of.) 
Then  there  were  also  three  books  from  you,  which 
I  loved.  They  were  detective  stories,  the  last 
one  being  the  Black  Eagle  Mystery.  I'm  wonder- 
ing now  whether  you  have  sent  any  others,  and 
liope  you  have.  They  really  made  me  quite  home- 
sick, for  there  was  a  sort  of  undefined  presence  to 
them,  as  of  father  in  the  train,  and  then  the 
catchall.  I  am  forwarding  them  on  to  Eleanor 
when  I  have  finished  them,  for  I  know  she  will 
appreciate  them  quite  as  much  as  I  do.  We  never 
get  any  of  that  sort  of  thing  over  here.  The  best 
we  can  do  in  the  line  of  home  reading  is  the  Sat. 
Eve.  Post, — and  even  that  at  times  is  rather  in- 
adequate. So  nearly  anything,  no  matter  how 
common  it  is  over  home,  is  a  novelty  here.  Do 
send  me  some  more  books,  or  magazines,  or  any- 
thing from  a  blue  Ribbon  Garage  bill  up,  for  I 
[107] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


very  much  appreciate  the  ones  I  have  got — not 
Garage  bills. 

At  the  moment  I  am  doing  what  I  have  really 
wanted  to  do  all  along  which  is  finish  up  my 
flying.  I  am  at  the  last  stage  now,  and  should  be 
finished  in  about  ten  days,  or  so.  We  are  doing 
formation  flying  now,  which  is  a  revelation  to  you 
after  what  we  did  back  home.  They  will  detail 
two  men  to  go  on  a  reconnaissance,  make  a  plan  of 
a  camp  fifty  miles  from  here,  or  something  like 
that.  Then  they  will  detail  another  five  men  to  go 
along  in  patrol  formation  acting  as  escort  and  pro- 
tection against  Boche  patrols.  In  formation  you 
fly  rather  the  way  geese  do,  in  V  shape,  with  the 
second  men  just  higher  than  the  leader  and  so  on. 
At  first  its  rather  scary,  for  you  have  to  stick  close 
together,  but  once  you  get  over  that  it  begins  to  be 
amusing,  for  you  have  to  watch  your  plane  and 
motor  all  the  time  without  looking  at  them, — a 
rather  Irish  statement.  What  I  mean  is  that  you 
have  to  be  able  to  watch  the  other  men  so  as  to 
keep  your  place  in  line,  and  at  the  same  time 
manage  your  plane.  We  get  the  most  tremendous 
[  108  ] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


amount  of  flying  in  in  a  day,  for  I  did  three 
hours  and  a  half  yesterday,  and  over  four  hours 
to-day. 

I  have  been  having  a  continual  fight  with  the 
doctors,  tho,  and  incidentally  with  myself.  The 
trouble  is  that  I  have  been  getting  in  so  much  flying 
lately  that  I  am  tired  out  most  of  the  time.  The 
net  result  was  that  I  collected  another  cough,  as 
my  lung  wasn't  quite  fixed  up.  I  had  been  feeling 
rather  poorly,  but  I  was  pretty  anxious  to  get  my 
flying  done,  so  I  was  keeping  on.  Then  to  day, 
I  dropped  over  to  the  main  camp  to  see  Ham,  and 
there  was  caught  by  Major  Goldthwait.  The 
first  thing  he  decided,  after  looking  me  over,  was 
that  I  had  measles,  because  I  had  a  cold,  and  a 
temp,  and  there  was  a  suspicious  rash  on  me.  I 
finally  persuaded  him  out  of  that,  and  then  he 
turned  on  the  other  tack,  and  said  that  my  vitality 
was  low,  and  that  I  was  very  likely  to  get  some- 
thing if  I  didn't  look  out,  and  ended  with  orders 
for  me  to  go  on  light  duty,  and  do  no  work  for  a 
week.  I  don't  know  what  I  am  going  to  do  about 
it,  for  I  certainly  can't  quit  flying  for  a  week 
[109] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


right  now,  when  I  am  finishing  up.  In  the  first 
place,  they  are  getting  ready  to  send  a  couple  of 
squadrons  up  within  a  reasonably  short  time,  and 
I  am  going  to  have  a  hard  enough  time  anyway 
trying  to  get  myself  a  place  in  one  of  them.  I 
think  I  shall  wait  and  see  how  things  turn  out. 

In  the  mean  time  I  am  going  to  bed  at  the  noble 
hour  of  eight  thirty,  which  means  that  there  won't 
be  very  much  more  to  this  letter.  I  hope  that  by 
now  you  are  getting  my  letters  regularly  again, 
after  my  lapse  from  virtue, — I  have  posted  them  to 
you  in  a  variety  of  ways,  by  French  mail,  and 
military  mail,  so  I  hope  they  have  started  to 
arrive. 

I  am  enclosing  some  snow  drops  that  I  found 
over  at  Romorantin.  They  reminded  me  so 
much  of  Oyster  Bay,  and  hunting  for  the  first  one 
out  in  front  of  the  porte-cochere.  I  suppose  that 
they  will  be  out  by  the  time  you  get  this,  if  my 
mail  is  any  indication.  At  all  events,  they  go 
to  show  that,  even  if  I  have  been  very  bad  about 
writing,  there  are  places  I  would  rather  be,  and 
persons  I  would  rather  see,  than  the  AEF  provides. 
[110] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

Give  my  love  to  all  the  family;  I  am  writing  father 
to-morrow.     Goodbye,  and  un  hon  baiser,  from, 

QUENT. 
February  3,  1918. 

We  all  went  over  to  the  funeral  of  those  two 
fellows  that  were  killed.  I  was  flying  above  it 
and  so  I  couldn't  tell  so  well.  The  coffins  were 
escorted  by  a  platoon  of  American  soldiers,  and  one 
of  French  sent  out  from  the  French  post.  Then, 
flying  just  above,  were  two  of  the  French  pilots, 
in  the  larger  machines.  They  are  marvellous 
pilots,  and  it  was  really  beautiful  to  watch  them 
crossing  and  recrossing  over  the  cortege  in  beauti- 
ful smooth  right-angled  S  turns.  Then,  just  as 
they  were  lowering  the  coffins,  another  Frenchman 
dropped  down  in  a  long  swoop,  his  motor  almost 
dead, — dropped  a  wreath  on  them,  and  then  swung 
of?.  All  the  time  we  were  up  above,  flying  at  about 
five  hundred  meters,  in  formation.  We  had  a  ten 
formation,  two  "Vs"  of  five,  circling  round  and 
round  till  it  was  over.  They  say  that  from  the 
ground  it  was  very  impressive, — for  there,  being 
[111] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


buried,  were  two  fellows  we  had  all  known  and 
flown  with  a  few  days  before, — and  round  them 
and  over,  the  planes  circling,  paying  a  last  tribute. 
It  takes  away  some  of  the  bare  horror  that 
the  two  little  twisted  heaps  of  wrecked  planes  and 
twisted  motors  leaves.  You  realise  that  perhaps, 
after  all,  we  don't  entirely,  like  the  boche,  "put 
our  trust  in  reeking  tube  or  iron  shard.'* 

Soon  after  being  detailed  to  Issodun  Quentin 
met  the  In  urmants  who  were  living  at  Romorantin, 
and  instead  of  having  one  "marraine,"  he  found 
himself  with  a  whole  family,  grandparents,  par- 
ents, and  grandchildren  to  accept  him.  He  al- 
ways referred  to  the  Normants  as  his  "Family 
in  France,"  and  was  devoted  to  one  and  all.  What 
their  friendship  and  unfailing  hospitality  meant 
to  Quentin  and  Ham  can  never  be  estimated. 
Only  those  who  have  experienced  the  whole- 
hearted generous  kindliness  with  which  French 
families  greeted  the  Americans  who  went  over 
to  serve  can  begin  to  realize  what  it  meant. 

[112] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

Romorantin 
Sunday,  February  16,  1918. 

Friday  afternoon,  we  got  orders  over  at  our 
field  to  have  eighteen  men  ready  to  go  out  in  a 
squadron  the  next  morning.  Of  course  when  I 
heard  that,  I  thought  "at  last,  we've  got  our  first 
squadron  going  out."  So  I  went  hotfoot  over  to 
the  main  camp  to  see  the  Colonel  and  get  permis- 
sion to  go  out  with  that  squadron.  He  refused, 
absolutely, — and  of  course  I  put  up  a  tremendous 
kick.     After  I'd  got  all  through  kicking  he  said: 

"I'll  tell  you  why  I  do  that.  That  squadron 
that  is  going  out  is  merely  a  political  move, — 
sent  so  we  can  say  we  have  a  squadron  at  the 
front.  They  haven't  even  got  machines  for  them 
yet, — or  any  sort  of  an  organisation  to  allow  for 
breakage  and  spare  parts.  What  will  happen  to 
them  is  that  they  will  move  out  into  a  camp  that 
is  not  yet  finished,  up  in  the  zone  of  the  advance, 
— and  then  sit  there  for  a  month,  until  our  or- 
ganisation can  take  care  of  them,  when  they  will 
probably  form  not  the  first  squadron,  but  the 
[113  1 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


finishing  school  staff  of  the  zone  of  the  advance. 
I  am  going  to  keep  you  back  here  for  that  reason, 
but  I  will  do  this.  I'll  send  you  out  to  the  front 
as  soon  as  Meyer  gets  back,  and  send  you  out  in 
a  real  squadron,  either  English  or  French." 

So  you  can  imagine  how  cheerful  I  am.  Cord 
ought  to  be  back  within  two  weeks,  and  then  I 
get  sent  out  in  his  place  in  a  real  squadron,  with 
real  machines,  and  men  who  know  something 
about  the  game.  I  rather  think  it  will  be  a  French 
squadron,  as  I  can  talk  French.  At  all  events, 
— cheers ! — in  about  two  weeks  I'll  have  stopped 
being  embusque  Quentin. 

Things  are  also  rather  amusing  over  at  the 
field  now,  for  besides  the  eighteen,  twenty  more 
were  taken  out,  to  be  used  as  instructors,  and  to 
learn  bombing.  Consequently,  I  have  only  seven 
students  now,  so  you  can  imagine  how  much 
flying  I  am  arranging  for  them.  It  is  the  first 
time  that  I've  really  had  enough  planes  to  do 
what  I  wanted,  so  I  am  giving  them  all  sorts  of 
stunt  flying  and  formation  work  the  others  didn't 
have.  I'll  bet  they're  better  pilots  than  any  of  the 
others  when  I  get  thru  with  them.  And  all  the 
[  114  ] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


time,  I  am  working  on  my  flying,  and  watching 
the  calendar  till  Cord  comes  back. 

I  took  Ham  over  here  with  me  this  Sunday. 
We  have  been  intending  to  do  it  for  a  long  time, 
and  now  that  he  is  plane  tester  over  at  my  field, 
I  can  take  him  out,  on  expeditions,  as  I  am  in 
charge  of  all  the  planes  over  there.  We  had  any 
amount  of  fun  doing  it — it's  lots  more  amusement 
touring  the  country  in  a  plane  if  you  can  look  over 
your  shoulder  and  see  some  one  else  sitting  up 
in  his  machine  just  over  your  wing-tip.  I  knew 
Ham  would  love  it  over  here, — and  he  is  having  a 
bully  time.  We  have  a  great  big  room,  with  a 
bathroom  to  ourselves, — and  altogether,  it's  civili- 
zation again.  Its  now  10:30  A.  M.  and  we've  just 
finished  breakfast,  so  I  hear  Ham  making  a  tre- 
mendous rumpus  in  his  bath  next  door,  and  occa- 
sionally hurling  some  insult  at  me. 

February  17,  1918. 
SAME   OLD   CAMP 

Its  been  quite  a  long  time  since  my  last  letter, 
and  all  sorts  of  water  has  flowed  under  the  bridge 
[115] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


since  then,  but  I  am  up  against  the  discouraging 
fact  that  I  am  not  sure  when  my  last  letter  was,  so 
please  excuse  if  I  repeat.  In  the  first  place,  I 
got  your  letter,  together  with  ones  from  father 
and  Ethel,  and  was  particularly  glad  to  get  them, 
especially  yours,  for  it  hasn't  been  pleasant  being 
under  the  ban,  however  well  deserved  it  may  have 
been.  We  haven't  had  exactly  a  mild  winter 
ourselves  over  here,  though  it  hasn't  been  as  bad 
as  it  must  have  been  on  L.  I.  After  one  frightfully 
cold  snap,  when  we  had  snow  all  the  time,  and 
flying  was  most  unpleasant,  we  had  nearly  a  month 
of  delightful  weather,  almost  like  spring,  but  now 
the  weather  man  seems  to  have  had  another  re- 
lapse, and  all  the  winter  clothes  and  fur  lined  boots 
have  come  out  again. 

Its  rather  of  a  bore,  because  with  the  work  I 
am  doing  now  I  have  to  get  in  a  lot  of  flying  of 
the  most  uninteresting  sort,  where  I  merely  take 
out  a  patrol  of  men  and  try  to  lose  them,  or  get 
them  so  mixed  up  that  they  can't  show  on  the 
map  where  they  have  been  when  they  come  down 
again.  It  means  about  two  hours  of  straight- 
[116] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

away  flj'ing,  with  nothing  in  the  world  to  relieve 
the  monotony  of  it  except  twisting  about,  and 
trying  to  find  some  part  of  the  country  within 
a  radius  of  seventy  five  or  eighty  miles  that  I 
have  not  already  investigated.  Its  not  so  bad 
when  the  weather  is  warm,  for  you  sit  back  in  your 
plane,  and  let  the  controls  loose,  and  think  of 
when  the  war  will  end,  or  what  Long  Island  would 
look  like  now,  or  some  other  pleasing  fiction.  But 
now,  there  is  always  some  part  of  you  that  gets 
cold.  Either  its  your  forehead,  or  one  finger  tip, 
or  your  feet;  but  whatever  it  is,  it  serves  to  keep 
your  mind  ofT  any  more  amusing  thought.  You 
try  your  hardest  to  project  yourself  out  into  the 
fields  of  speculation,  and  always  after  a  few  seconds 
you  find  yourself  back  up  against  the  one  dis- 
gusting truth  that  that  particular  finger  or  what- 
ever it  is  is  cold. 

February  21,  1918. 
Letter  No.  1. 

I'm  at  the  moment  indulging  in  the  not  over 
satisfactory   feeling  of  knowing  that  I've  done 
[117] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


what  I  ought  to  have  done,  even  tho'  it  wasn't 
what  was  pleasantest.  I  was  given  the  chance  of 
being  permanently — that  is  for  the  next  three 
months — stationed  at  Paris,  to  deliver  planes  to 
the  various  depots.  You  see,  the  heart  of  the 
aeroplane  industry  is  Paris, — ^for  all  the  big  fac- 
tories are  there.  Consequently,  we  have  American 
testers,  who  receive  the  planes,  test  them,  and 
then  accept  or  reject  them.  If  they  are  accepted 
they  have  to  be  flown  to  their  various  destinations. 
I  was  to  be  in  charge  of  that  particular  branch, 
and  to  arrange  for  the  deliveries.  It  would  be 
wonderful  fun,  of  course,  for  I'd  be  flying  all  over 
France — out  to  the  front  as  well  as  to  the  various 
schools  behind  the  lines.  There  would  be  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  good  experience  in  it,  too,  but  the 
trouble  is,  it's  a  job  for  a  man  back  from  the  front 
for  a  rest, — or  one  who's  had  a  bad  crash  and  lost 
his  nerve.  It's  no  occupation  for  me  who  have 
never  been  to  the  front.  And  so  I  turned  it  down, 
and  I've  been  thinking,  rather  regretfully,  of  the 
good  times  I  might  have  had  in  Paris.  I  would  like 
to  get  a  job  testing,  tho',  for  I  think  that  is  valuable 
[118] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

work.  I  don't  think  there's  much  chance  of  that. 
A  tester  is  never  an  emb usque,  for  after  all,  you 
can't  call  a  man  a  slacker  whose  job  is  testing 
planes  to  see  if  they're  strong  enough,  and  well 
built  enough  to  stand  service.  Besides,  a  tester 
gets  wonderful  flying  experience,  for  he  flies  all 
kinds  of  machines,  and,  in  case  he  gets  a  machine, 
that  is  what  the  French  call  "malregle,"  he  has  a 
slight  sample  of  what  flying  at  the  front  may  be 
like  with  part  of  your  controlling  surfaces  shot 
away. 

So,  I  am  still  in  my  old  work  here,  and  having  a 
rather  amusing  time,  for  I  am  not  exactly  sure 
what  I  am.  I  feel  a  little  like  the  song,  "  Am  I  the 
Governor  General,  or  a  hobo," — for  no  one,  least 
of  all  headquarters,  can  make  out  just  what  my 
status  is.  I  am  hanging  on  like  grim  death,  until 
I  can  get  sent  out  to  the  front.  Once  I  have  had 
my  three  weeks  or  so  with  the  French  or  English, 
I  will  have  some  sort  of  a  foundation  to  base  on, 
but  till  then,  I'll  probably  remain  an  official  mys- 
tery. 

In  the  meantime,  I  am  getting  in  all  kinds  of  fly- 
[119] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


ing,  and  I  think,  accomplishing  a  certain  amount 
in  the  hne  of  training  the  new  men  at  the  same 
time.  Yesterday  I  took  a  group  of  ten  off  for 
a  reconnaisance.  They  all  had  their  maps,  and 
the  object  was  to  make  them  keep  formation 
and  at  the  same  time  make  out  from  the  map  where 
they  are  going.  It's  good  practice  for  them,  but 
by  way  of  being  dull  for  me, — so  I  thought  I'd 
liven  it  up  by  doing  a  couple  of  virrages  a  la  verti- 
cale^  and  generally  fooling  round  the  sky.  I  did 
that  for  about  five  minutes, — always  keeping  the 
general  direction  I  was  going,  but  more  or  less 
wagging  my  tail  en  route,  and  then  looked  around 
for  the  formation,  which  should  have  been  follow- 
ing above  in  two  nice  "Vs"  of  five.  Instead,  they 
were  scattered  all  over  the  landscape  like  flies.  I 
stopped  doing  everything  at  that,  and  flew  in  a 
straight  line,  so  that  gradually  they  formed  up 
again.  Then  when  I  got  back  I  asked  what  was 
the  matter,  and  found  that  they  had  tried  to  fol- 
low my  movements.  Of  course,  it's  absolutely  im- 
possible, in  formation,  to  do  anything  like  that, — 
and  I  told  them  so.  I've  also  been  polishing  up 
[120] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


my  acrobacy  a  good  bit  lately,  so  that  I  can  do  it 
without  thinking. 


February  23,  1918. 

No.  2. 


Not  much  news  this  time,  except  one  rather 
sad  bit.  Al  Sturtevant  has  been  shot  down.  I 
heard  it  from  Bob  Lovett.  He  was  patrolling, 
doing  seaplane  work,  when  he  had  the  bad  luck  to 
run  into  a  squadrc  ti  of  Bosche  planes,  out  on  some 
sort  of  reconnaisance.  Of  course  he  didn't  have 
a  chance.  They  shot  him  down, — so  thoro'ly  that 
even  the  plane  was  totally  destroyed,  and  sank. 
Poor  Al, — he's  the  first  of  that  bunch  whom  we 
knew  and  played  round  with,  that  is  gone.  Still, 
— there's  no  better  way, — if  one  has  got  to  die. 
It  solves  things  so  easily,  for  you've  nothing  to 
worry  about  it,  and  even  the  people  whom  you 
leave  have  the  great  comfort  of  knowing  how  you 
died.  Its  really  very  fine,  the  way  he  went, 
fighting  hopelessly,  against  enormous  odds, — and 
then  thirty  seconds  of  horror  and  its  all  over, — 
[121] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


for  they  say  that  on  the  average  it's  all  over  in 
that  length  of  time,  after  a  plane's  been  hit. 


PART   II — TRAINING   FOR   COMBAT 

March  7th. 

I  am  down  at  Cazaux,  it's  where  they  teach 
the  Chasse  pilots  machine  gun  work,  it  is  interest- 
ing and  very  valuable.  From  what  I  can  gather 
about  half  the  game  in  "chasse"  is  good  machine 
gun  work. 

It  has  been  really  a  kind  of  vacation  to  come 
down  here,  for  although  we  work  pretty  hard,  it's 
nice  and  warm  and  we  are  right  on  the  ocean 
living  in  a  big  summer  resort  hotel.  The  Colonel 
was  awfully  nice  about  it  too,  for  he  said  I  would 
still  keep  my  status  on  the  flying  staff  and  be 
eligible  to  go  out  next  in  line  with  a  French  or 
British  Squadron. 

:  Our  own  affairs  are  going  along  about  the  same. 
They  train  pilots  and  send  them  up  to  depots  at 
the  front  and  then  leave  them  there  with  no  planes 
to  fly.     You  will  get  all  of  that  from  General  Wood.  1 
[  122  ] 


THE   WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


One  thing  that  is  making  trouble  is  the  fact  that 
we  seem  to  be  a  door  mat  for  G.  H.  Q.  and  the 
Line.  The  first  tliey  got  us  on  was  cutting  flying 
pay — when  every  other  army  in  the  world  paj's 
their  flyers  extra.  Then  the  new  service  stripe 
regulations  came  out,  and  we  got  it  in  the  neck 
again.  In  the  aviation  section  one  has  to  be  six 
months  in  actual  combat  at  the  front  to  get  a 
stripe;  that  means  that  a  mechanic  working  near 
the  front  and  bombarded  every  night  has  nothing 
to  distinguish  him  from  the  Washington  embusque. 
A  pilot  has  to  last  six  months  and  they  hardly  ever 
keep  a  chasse  pilot  up  more  than  three.  Also, 
some  one  like  Ham  Coolidge  for  instance,  who  is 
testing  planes  back  at  the  school  and  doing  dan- 
gerous work  gets  no  credit  and  yet  we  kill  on  an 
average  of  one  a  week  at  the  school. 
There,  my  wail  is  done ! 

March  7,  1918. 
Letter  No.  6 

General  Wood  was  out   here  yesterday, — and 
as  he  is  leaving  very  shortly,  is  going  to  take  these 
[123  1 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


back  with  him.  So,  as  this  will  get  to  you  prob- 
ably a  good  deal  before  my  last  few,  I'm  going 
to  repeat  myself.  To  begin  with,  I'm  at  Cazaux, 
at  the  French  flcole  de  Tir  Aerien.  They  teach 
you  the  machine  gun  side  of  chasse  work.  I  was 
very  strongly  advised  to  do  it  by  Colonel  Kilner, 
— as  he  considers  it  very  valuable  training.  He 
also  promised  to  keep  me  on  my  training  staff 
status,  so  that  when  I  get  back  I  can  be  sent  out 
with  either  in  British  or  French  escadrilles.  In 
the  meantime  I'm  having  a  most  interesting  time 
back  here.  They  start  out  with  explanations  of 
the  mechanism  and  jams  in  the  various  types 
of  machine  guns.  Then  after  some  work  on 
the  ground, — shooting  at  targets, — shooting  from 
boat  at  targets,  and  shooting  at  little  balloons, 
you  start  in  on  air  work.  First  there  are  no  guns 
on  the  planes  and  you  have  to  go  up  a  couple  of 
thousand  metres,  drop  over  a  paper  parachute,  and 
then  chase  it,  manoevring  round  it.  After  that  you 
start,  beginning  on  fixed  balloons  and  ending  with  a 
sleeve  towed  by  another  plane.  In  all  that  work 
they  keep  record  of  your  shots,  and  count  the  hits 
[124] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

afterward.  It's  a  three  weeks'  course,  and  I  do 
not  get  finished  until  the  eighteenth,  and  then, 
after  two  days  in  Paris,  I'll  go  back  to  Issoudun 
again.  From  there,  if  things  work  as  I  hope,  I 
go  out  with  the  French  or  British  very  shortly. 
However,  I've  given  up  prophesying  as  to  when 
I'll  be  anywhere.  I  went  to  Cazaux  on  ten  hour's 
notice. 


March,  1918. 

The  only  unpleasant  part  is  that  the  machines 
here  are  the  most  awful  old  crocks.  They  have 
been  in  service  for  ages,  and  have  old  motors  and 
fuselages  and  wings  that  are  all  warped  and  bent 
out  of  shape.  Consequently,  the  French  warn  you 
when  you  go  up,  to  be  very  careful  to  do  no  sort 
of  acrobacy  at  all,  and  not  even  try  any  steep 
dives  with  them  to  vertical  virages.  That's  all 
very  well,  but  they  also  expect  you  to  follow  the 
parachutes  all  the  time,  and  make  good  scores 
when  you  are  shooting  at  the  machines. 
[125] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


You  get  up  in  the  air,  and  get  excited  over 
trying  to  follow  up  the  parachute,  or  whatever 
it  is  you  are  trying  to  shoot  at,  and  you  forget  all 
about  your  machine  except  as  a  means  of  keeping 
your  sights  on  the  target.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
one  of  our  fellows  was  killed  just  last  week,  in  a  ma- 
chine that  was  supposed  to  be  perfectly  all  right. 
He  was  doing  combat  work  at  about  fifteen  hun- 
dred, when  for  some  reason  or  other,  just  as  he  was 
straightening  out  of  a  dive,  his  wings  folded  up  on 
him.  Of  course  he  didn't  have  a  chance.  He  was 
a  Cornell  boy,  named  Hagedorn. 

Quentin  made  an  excellent  record  at  Cazaux; 
his  score  card  was  afterward  sent  to  his  family, 
and  the  note  on  the  bottom  reads:  "Tres  bon 
pilote.  Atterrissages  tres  reguliers.  Tres  bon 
tireur.    Esprit  tres  militaire,  Beaucoup  d'allant." 

As  we  are  all  living  at  Arcachon, — incidentally, 

I've  actually  got  a  room  and  bath  at  a  hotel, — I 

dine  with  four  or  five  ojQScers  every  night,  and  have 

a  most  delightful  time.     Last  night  we  gave  a  little 

[126] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

dinner,  to  a  couple  of  French  aces,  back  for  a 
montli's  rest.  One  had  nine,  and  the  other  eleven 
Boche, — so  you  can  see  they  were  pretty  good. 
Things  went  well, — and  they  were  most  interest- 
ing, telling  about  various  times  they  had  had. 
One  of  them  started  as  observer,  was  captured, 
kept  in  a  reprisal  camp  for  five  weeks,  and  finally 
escaped,  via  the  lines,  and  across  No  Man's  Land 
to  the  French  again.  After  that,  he  became  a 
chasse  pilot !  Finally  one  of  them  got  up,  and 
proposed  a  toast  to  America, — with  the  best 
speech  I've  heard  in  a  long  time.  He  has  a 
wonderful  gift  for  the  dramatic, — and  he  finished 
with,  *'and  gentlemen,  when  we  dine  together 
again,  and  the  war  is  over,  may  there  be  no 
empty  places."  That's  only  a  bald  attempt  at 
conveying  the  sense,  for  it  was  beautifully  done. 


Cazaux,  March  12th. 

Down  here  things  are  very  pleasant.     We  have 
been  having  the  most  glorious  weather,  warm  and 
spring-like.     The   result    is    that    they    have   in- 
[  127] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


creased  our  hours  of  work,  so  that  we  have  to  be 
upon  the  field  from  seven  in  the  morning  to  seven 
in  the  evening,  with  only  lunch  time  out.  It 
makes  a  pretty  long  day  of  it  and  bed  looks  very 
pleasant  by  9:30. 

Sunday  was  a  half  holiday  so  we  went  off  for 
an  expedition,  the  Major,  Lou  Bredin,  myself 
and  an  English  Captain  named  Ainsley.  You 
would  have  loved  it.  We  went  away  across  the 
bay  on  a  little  nondescript  sort  of  sloop,  which 
her  owner  called  a  canot.  The  bay  is  closed  up  at 
the  mouth  with  a  sort  of  strait  with  high  dunes  on 
each  side  that  go  all  the  way  along  the  ocean  up 
into  the  pine  forests.  It's  curious  country — 
nothing  but  sand  and  pine  trees,  planted  by  Na- 
poleon's orders  (not  the  sand).  I  have  flown  for 
miles  over  it  and  except  for  occasional  bare  patches 
of  sand  it's  deserted — ^no  clearings,  no  houses — 
nothing.  Only  along  the  coast  there  are  little 
fishing  villages.  We  went  out  to  one  of  them  on 
our  sail  and  stopped  to  look  at  a  grove  of  mimosa 
in  bloom.  You  have  seen  it  of  course  and  know 
how  lovely  it  is.  The  whole  thing  was  like  an 
[128] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


artist's  sketch  book.  The  men  wear  blue  and 
brown  shirts  and  red  baggy  trousers,  all  toned  and 
softened  by  salt  water,  so  that  there  are  no  sharp 
edges  to  the  colors.  The  women  too,  when  they 
are  working  at  the  oyster  farms  wear  the  same  red 
trousers.  We  explored  it  all — there  were  fully 
fil'lecn  houses — and  then  sailed  back  and  so,  like 
Samuel  Pepys,  "to  bed." 

I  leave  in  five  days,  although  what  I  shall  do, 
or  where  I  shall  go,  heavens  knows ! 

March  29 
Its  been  quite  a  long  time  since  I  last  wrote 
home,  and  all  sorts  of  things  have  happened. 
In  the  first  place;  I  have  finished  up  my  work  at 
Cazaux,  and  am  back  again  at  the  same  old  camp. 
I  finished  up  there  on  the  twenty-second  and  went 
up  for  a  forty  eight  hour  pass  in  Paris,  hoping  to 
be  able  to  get  out  to  see  Arch.  I  found  when  I 
got  up  there  that  it  was  impossible,  as  he  is  still 
in  an  evacuation  hospital  in  the  zone  of  the  ad- 
vance, and  I  was  not  able  to  get  passes  to  go  out 
there.  However  I  did  see  Eleanor,  who  was  up 
[129] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


in  Paris,  and  having  a  horrid  time,  because  she 
too  had  been  unable  to  get  out  to  see  Arch.  She 
had  tried  pulhng  every  string  she  could,  and  the 
general  opinion  was  that  it  would  be  impossible 
to  do  it,  and  that  if  she  did  do  it  this  time,  it 
would  be  the  last  chance  she  would  have.  She 
talked  it  over  with  Doctor  Lambert,  and  also 
with  several  people  who  had  just  seen  Archie,  and 
they  all  agreed  that  his  wounds  were  not  serious 
enough  to  warrant  that.  As  she  said,  it  is  a  good 
deal  better,  if  she  is  only  going  to  be  able  to  do 
it  once,  to  wait  until  a  time  when  one  of  us  is 
very  seriously  wounded  and  needs  her  more.  Also, 
they  are  expecting  to  move  Arch  into  Paris  very 
shortly,  and  so  she  will  see  him  and  be  able  to 
look  after  him  as  soon  as  he  gets  up  there.  She 
has  gone  down  to  Aix  again,  leaving  word  that  as 
soon  as  it  is  definitely  known  when  Arch  is  to  be 
moved,  she  is  to  be  telegraphed  so  that  she  can 
come  up  to  him. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  I  was  rather  glad  to  get 
away  from  Paris,  for  the  offensive  was  starting, 
and  it  wasn't  much  of  a  time  for  playing  around, 
[130] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


or  doing  anything  at  all  but  getting  back  to  one's 
job.  There's  no  use  talking  about  the  ofifensive 
because  it  will  be  all  past  history  by  the  time  you 
get  this,  and  also  because  we  don't  know  anything 
about  it  down  here.  The  one  thing  we  do  know  is 
that  our  chasse  planes  are  being  held  up  now  by 
a  new  shortage — machine  guns.  They  have  so 
far  got  only  enough  for  tlie  first  squadron.  The 
other  squadron  is  doing  decoy  work — a  most 
profitless  occupation  to  my  mind.  They  are  sent 
out  over  the  lines  escorted  by  two  French  planes 
with  machine  guns.  The  object  is  to  get  the 
German  to  attack  them.  Then  they  leave  for 
home  in  a  hurry  and  let  the  Frenchmen  look  after 
the  Boche.  It  seems  foolish  to  have  to  work  that 
way,  but  we  can't  choose.  They've  done  one 
rather  delightful  thing  though.  As  you  know, 
each  squadron  on  the  front  has  some  special 
insignia.  Guynemer's,  for  instance,  was  the  Stork, 
there  are  the  Leopards,  the  Indians,  and  lots  of 
others.  Tlie  poor  souls  who  have  to  go  across 
without  machine  guns  have  adopted  a  decoy 
duck,  with  one  leg  stuck  out  stiffly  in  front  as  if  it 
[131] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


were  doing  a  goose  step.     They  have  got  it  painted 
on  all  their  planes. 

I  am  at  the  moment  in  charge  of  training  at 
the  finishing  field  here,  and  expecting  my  orders 
any  day.  There  is  no  vacancy  at  the  present,  as 
we  have  no  planes,  but  I  am  to  be  sent  up  as  soon 
as  there  is  any.  All  schemes  of  going  up  in  French 
squadrons  and  such  have  been  disarranged  by  the 
offensive,  and  I  rather  doubt  if  they  will  start 
working  smoothly  again  until  the  offensive  is 
finished.  In  the  meantime,  Ham  and  I  are  sitting 
here,  doing  our  work  from  day  to  day  with  an  eye 
on  the  mail  each  morning,  and  a  hope  that  it  will 
have  orders.  In  a  way  I'm  not  so  sorry,  for  it 
has  given  me  the  chance  to  get  out  of  a  streak 
of  bad  flying  that  I  had  gotten  into.  I  think  it 
was  the  result  of  the  landing  field  at  Cazaux, 
complicated  with  not  feeling  awfully  well.  When 
I  got  back  to  this  part  of  the  world  again  I  started 
in  with  a  very  heavy  cold,  and  had  to  turn  in  for 
a  day  or  two,  as  the  doctor  thought  I  was  going  to 
get  another  attack  of  pneumonia.  Then  when  I 
started  to  fly  I  found  that,  either  as  a  result  of 
[132] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


that  or  as  a  result  of  a  landing  field  at  Cazaux  that 
is  as  smooth  as  a  billiard  table,  my  landings  had 
all  gone  to  the  bad.  I  smashed  one  plane  up 
beautifully  when  I  started  out.  It  was  really  a 
very  neat  job,  for  I  landed  with  a  drift,  touched  one 
wing,  and  then,  as  there  was  a  high  wind,  did  three 
complete  summersaults  (spelling.?)  ending  up  on 
my  back.  I  crawled  out  of  it  with  nothing  more 
than  a  couple  of  scratches.  So  now  I'm  flying 
most  of  the  time,  getting  into  practise.  I've 
got  to  go  now,  as  there  is  a  plane  out  en  panne 
that  I  have  got  to  locate.     Lots  of  love  to  all  the 

f"""'y-  f™-"  QUENT. 

March  30,  1918. 

I've  flown  a  certain  amount  because,  being  in 
charge  of  training,  I've  had  to  decide  whether  it 
was  fit  for  flying.  It's  quite  amusing  to  fly  in 
very  windy  weather.  Yesterday  when  I  cut  my 
motor  to  come  down,  I  found  I  was  making  al- 
most no  headway  against  the  wind.  So  I  came 
down  turning  over  about  a  thousand,  and  feeling 
[133] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


as  if  I  were  in  a  delivery  cart  on  a  cobble  stone 
road.  She  slapped  and  thumped  on  the  gusts  of 
wind  like  a  flat  bottomed  boat  in  a  sea.  Alto- 
gether, flying  for  me  has  been  amusing.  Yester- 
day before  coming  over  here  it  rained  until  five  in 
the  afternoon.  Ham  and  I  had  almost  given  up 
the  idea,  when  we  noticed  the  clouds  beginning  to 
separate.  I  said  try  it  anyhow,  and  so  we  started. 
It  was  funny  flying  weather.  We  went  thru  the 
first  set  of  clouds  at  about  three  hundred  metres. 
Then  there  was  clear  air  for  about  a  thousand 
metres,  with  only  occasional  banks,  and  finally  a 
solid  ceiling  at  about  thirteen  hundred.  So  we 
took  the  middle  flying  fairly  high  and  watching  for 
the  ground  between  clouds  to  see  where  we  were. 
I  had  a  most  unpleasant  time  of  it  just  at  the 
end,  for  I  was  really  scared,  and  its  the  only  time 
I  have  been,  in  the  air.  We  were  just  about  five 
miles  from  here,  and  I  was  getting  ready  to  nose 
her  down  and  come  thru  the  clouds  to  land  when 
for  some  unknown  reason  I  began  to  feel  faint 
and  dizzy.  I'm  free  to  confess  that  I  was  scared, 
good  and  scared.  However  there  was  nothing  to 
[134] 


THE   WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

do  except  trust  to  luck,  so  I  nosed  her  down,  and 
went  for  the  landing.  As  luck  would  have  it, — I 
happened  to  have  just  hit  it  rightly,  and  I  came 
in  on  that  glide  with  only  a  couple  of  S's  to  slow 
me  up.  I  was  mighty  glad,  tho,  when  I  got  on  to 
good,  solid  ground  again.** 


Sunday,' April  6,  1918. 

»'■*"■"•'"'  ~    •  •     ■       •  •  •  • 

Ham  and  I  are  planning  a  big  party  very  shortly. 
We  are  both  going  to  take  the  seven  day  leave 
which  the  army  gives  us  every  four  months, — 
only  we  are  going  to  take  it  by  plane.  We'll 
probably  cruise  all  over  the  map, — drop  in  and  see 
Eleanor  at  Aix  les  Bains,  and  generally  have  a 
marvellous  time.  Don't  you  think  it  sounds  like 
good  fun?  The  one  draw  back  is  that  my  plane 
looks  like  a  Liberty  Bond  ad.  The  mechanics  in 
the  hangar  said  that  they  were  going  to  arrange 
a  little  surprise  for  me  during  the  four  rainy  days 
that  we've  had, — and  they  lived  up  to  their  word. 
They've  got  a  huge  American  shield  with  white 
[135] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


wings  stretching  across  the  top  plane.  Then 
running  round  the  fuselage  they  have  two  spiral 
red  and  blue  stripes  ending  in  a  little  circle  with 
the  American  insignia  right  back  of  the  cockpit. 
Even  the  wheel  covers  are  painted  up.  The  net 
result  is  that  wherever  I  land  the  plane  collects  a 
large  crowd  instantly.  I'm  getting  some  pictures 
taken  of  it,  and  if  they're  any  good  I'll  send  them 
to  you.     Its  V.  sporty. 


April  15,  1918. 

Please  excuse  this  very  spurious  paper,  for  I 
have  been  too  busy  to  get  away  from  camp  during 
the  last  week  to  get  any  more  respectable  variety. 

Things  are  beginning  to  hum  here  at  the  school. 
For  one  thing,  we  hear  that  they  are  not  going  to 
send  any  more  pilots  over  from  the  states  for  the 
present,  which  is  about  the  first  sensible  decision 
that  they  have  made  as  regards  the  Air  Service. 
As  it  is  they  must  have  about  two  thousand  pilots 
over  here,  and  Heaven  knows  it  will  be  ages  before 
we  have  enough  machines  for  even  half  that  num- 
[136] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

ber.  Not  one  of  the  bunch  that  were  at  Cazaux 
with  me  have  got  out  to  the  front  yet,  and  there 
doesn't  seem  to  be  much  chance  of  their  doing  so 
in  the  immediate  future.  It  seems  an  awful  pity, 
too,  for  with  the  way  things  are  going  on  the  front 
now,  I  can't  help  but  think  that  all  the  pilots  that 
can  be  handled  ought  to  be  sent  up  there  in  French 
and  English  squadrons  if  we  can't  provide  the 
machines  for  them  ourselves.  Still,  the  Major 
says  that  he  is  certain  that  they  will  not  let  anyone 
go  up  \\ath  the  French,  as  the  last  pilot  that  we 
sent  up  there  onlj'  got  as  far  as  Paris  and  was 
then  held  up  on  account  of  the  offensive. 

I  wonder  if  they  are  hearing  all  the  news  about 
the  offensive  back  in  the  states,  and  if  they  realize 
how  serious  it  is.  I'm  rather  afraid  of  talking 
about  it,  first  because  I  am  a  little  leary  of  the 
censor,  and  next  because,  being  in  the  rear  as  we 
are,  I  doubt  if  we  know  as  much  even  as  you  do 
in  the  U.  S.  A.  All  we  do  know  is  that  its  a 
mighty  serious  business,  and  that  its  our  business 
to  get  into  it  as  soon  as  possible.  In  the  mean- 
time I  am  working  my  hardest  trying  to  get  the 
[137] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


students  that  go  thru  here  as  well  trained  as  pos- 
sible, and  incidentally  flying  myself  a  lot. 

I  am  getting  my  air  work  down  pretty  well  now, 
for  I  don't  think  there's  any  sort  of  a  stunt  that  I 
haven't  tried.  Ham  who  is  here  testing,  goes  up 
with  me  every  day  for  combat  work,  which  is 
most  interesting.  The  other  day  he  came  over  in 
a  new  type  of  plane,  that  they  are  just  putting 
in  on  the  front,  and  we  had  a  bully  time  with  it. 
I  went  up  in  mine,  which  is  of  course  specially 
taken  care  of  by  the  mechanics  and  we  chased 
each  other  around  for  about  a  half  an  hour. 

I  just  got  a  note  from  Arch  to  say  that  he  was 
doing  finely,  and  also  hear  from  the  papers  that 
he  has  been  moved  to  Mrs.  Reid's  hospital  in 
Paris.  I  am  going  to  fly  up  there  next  Saturday, 
if  its  decent  weather,  and  spend  Sunday  with  him. 
Its  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  and  I  can 
make  it  in  about  an  hour  and  a  quarter.  Eleanor 
is  already  up  there  with  him,  as  I  just  got  her 
telegram  asking  when  I  could  get  up  there  to  see 
him. 

I  have  just  gotten  one  piece  of  news  that  is 
very  bad,  if  true.  It  is  that  Cord  is  reported 
[  138] 


THE   WAY  OF  THE   EAGLE 


missing.  I  have  been  over  in  the  Major's  office 
all  day  trying  to  get  official  confirmation  of  the 
rumor,  and  as  yet  have  succeeded  in  hearing  noth- 
ing about  it.  I  don't  see  how  it  can  be  possible,  for 
he  was  as  good  a  pilot  as  any  I  have  seen  here, 
which  means  as  any  in  the  U.  S.  A.  S.  So  I'm 
still  hoping. 

Do  you  remember  when  you  sent  me  this 
poem  ?  *  It  was  two  years  ago,  in  a  clipping  in  one 
of  your  letters.  I  remember  loving  it  then,  and 
its  rather  curious  to  run  across  it  again,  so  I  am 
sending  it  on  to  you,  as  I  have  a  copy  I  made  of 
the  other.  This  seems  a  rather  short  letter,  but 
we  are  all  so  full  of  the  offensive  over  here  that  it 
doesn't  leave  much  room  for  anything  else  except 
"shop"  in  our  heads.  I'm  so  glad  father  is 
getting  all  right  again.  Lots  of  love  to  Ethel  and 
Co.  and  to  you  especially,  from  your  loving, 

QUENTIN. 

May  4,  1918. 
Its  been  perfect  ages  since  I  last  wrote  to  you, 
and  I've  got  a  variety  of  reasons  for  not  having 

*  "Christ  in  Flanders." 

[139] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


done  so.  The  one  real  one  is  that  I  had  one  hand 
laid  up  in  an  accident  and  aside  from  that  haven't 
been  feeling  decently  for  quite  a  while  now.  It 
started  a  little  while  after  I  got  back  from  Cazaux. 
I  had  been  feeling  all  overish  for  quite  a  while, 
and  then  one  day  when  I  was  off  on  a  voyage  my 
motor  blew  up  on  me,  and  I  had  to  come  down  for 
a  forced  landing.  As  luck  would  have  it,  some 
fool  people  got  in  my  way,  just  as  I  was  coming  in 
to  land,  and  as  between  hitting  them  or  crashing, 
I  took  the  latter,  and  hung  myself  up  nicely  in 
some  trees.  I  reduced  the  plane  to  kindling  wood, 
and  got  out  of  it  myself  whole  but  rather  battered. 
Among  other  odds  and  ends,  I  had  a  bad  wrist 
which  reduced  my  epistolary  efficiency.  That 
in  itself  wasn't  anything  particular,  but  it  was 
part  of  a  vague  general  uncomfortableness.  Ham 
and  I  talked  things  over,  and  found  that  we  both 
were  about  in  the  same  fix.  It  boiled  down  to 
this,  that  we  both  were  heartily  sick  of  the  work 
we  were  doing,  and  that  we  wanted  to  get  out  to 
the  front,  or  anywhere  away  from  this  mud  ridden 
hole.  I  had  got  to  the  point  where  even  the  sight 
[140] 


THE   WAY  OF  THE   EAGLE 

of  a  flying  student  filled  me  with  loathing.  It  is 
rather  hard  to  teach  men  to  ^y,  and  send  them  on 
thru  the  school,  when  you  can  see  no  future  in 
siglit  for  them.  I  knew  that  the  men  we  were 
sending  thru  would  just  be  sent  to  a  gunnery 
school,  and  then  have  to  hang  around  goodness 
only  knows  how  long  until  there  were  any  planes 
for  them  to  fly.  And  knowing  that  it  was  awfully 
hard  to  get  up  any  enthusiasm  for  a  job,  which  I 
hated  anyway.  The  long  and  the  short  of  it  was 
that  Ham  and  I  both  decided,  independent  of  the 
other,  that  we  were  stale.  So  I  went  to  the  Major 
and  asked  liim  if  he  could  not  arrange  to  have 
Ham  take  a  leave.  He  said  that  on  account  of 
the  offensive,  leaves  were  being  discontinued,  but 
that  he  would  allow  Ham  to  take  a  plane  on  a 
cross  country  to  Paris.  So  he  sent  for  Ham  and 
told  him  this,  whereupon  Ham  told  him  some  long 
song  and  dance  about  me,  resulting  in  our  both 
being  sent  off  with  our  planes  for  a  six  days'  rest 
in  Paris.  Don't  you  think  that  was  pretty  nice 
of  him  ?  It  made  the  most  tremendous  difference 
to  me,  for  now  I  am  back  here  again,  and  tho  I 
[141] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


don't  like  the  work,  yet  I  do  see  how  useless  it  is 
to  kick  about  it  and  not  do  it,  when  there  is  no 
chance  to  go  out  to  the  front  anyway.  The  Major 
has  promised  us  anyway  that  as  soon  as  any  bunch 
goes  out  to  the  front  he  will  see  that  our  names 
are  on  the  list. 

Eleanor  Is  up  in  Paris  now  looking  after  Archie 
so  I  stayed  with  her  and  naturally  had  a  bully 
time.  She  really  has  been  a  perfect  trump  about 
the  way  she  has  taken  care  of  all  of  us.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  neither  she  nor  I  think  Arch  is  very 
well.  He  is  very  thin,  and  is  in  the  horrid  posi- 
tion now  of  not  knowing  what  is  going  to  happen 
to  him.  It  will  be  about  five  months,  so  the  Major 
at  the  hospital  says,  before  he  will  be  fit  for  active 
service  again,  and  the  question  is  what  to  do. 
Myself,  I  can't  see  why  he  wasn't  sent  back  to  the 
states  as  soon  as  they  evacuated  him  from  the 
Z  of  A.  As  it  is,  he  is  in  the  hospital,  getting 
better  slowly.  I  think  he  would  have  been  much 
better  off  if  he  had  been  sent  back  to  the  states  to 
convalesce. 


[142] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


May  4,  1918. 

There   are   some   nice   things   about   aviation, 
really.     It  seems  to  be  the  one  part  of  the  war  in 
which  brother  Boche  has  the  instincts  of  a  sports- 
man and  a  gentleman.     Of  course  the  service  is  as 
full  of  wild  stories  as  a  boarding  school,  and  this 
one  I'm  not  sure  about, — tho  I  think  its  so.    After 
Guynemer  was  brought  down  a  Boche  flew  over  his 
squadron's  airdrome  and  dropped  a  letter  saying 
that  his  funeral  would  be  on  a  certain  date  and 
that  four  Frenchmen  would  be  given  safe  conduct 
to  land  on  the  German  field  and  attend  it.     They 
accepted  it,  and  flew  over,  landed  on  the  German 
field,  were  received  by  the  Germans,  attended  the 
funeral  and  then  went  back.     It's  rather  a  fine 
thing  if  true,  and  I  do  know  for  certain  that  they 
know  where  Guynemer's  grave  is,  so  it  may  be 
true.     Then  just  shortly  ago.  Baron  von  Richt- 
hofen  the  German  ace,  was  brought  down  by  the 
English.     They    buried    him    with   full   military 
honors, — three  French  aces  and  three  English  aces 
for  his  pall  bearers.     It  must  have  been  most  im- 
[143] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


pressive,  the  French  and  English  soldiers  standing 
to  attention  as  they  lowered  him  into  his  grave 
while  the  English  chaplain  read  the  burial  service 
over  him.  All  those  are  the  little  things  that  will 
make  up  the  traditions  of  the  service  after  the 
war's  over.  And  it  is  a  nice  thing  to  know  that 
the  things  that  you  are  to  some  extent  a  part  of 
will  be  the  traditions  of  the  service.  That  and 
the  certainty  that  there  will  be  plenty  of  war 
left  even  when  I  get  up  there,  helps  to  make 
Issoudun  a  little  more  bearable. 


May  12, 1918. 

Its  been  perfect  ages  since  I  wrote  to  you,  and 
again  I'm  ashamed  of  myself,  but  I  am  also 
ashamed  of  my  mail  from  the  states,  for  I  haven't 
gotten  a  single  letter  from  there  of  more  recent 
date  than  the  third  of  April.  I  don't  know  what 
has  been  happening  to  them,  for  most  of  the  other 
people  here  have  gotten  them  as  recently  as  the 
eighteenth.     I  hope  they  weren't  sunk. 

I've  got  uncommonly  little  news  that's  worth 
[144] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

the  repeating.  To  begin  with,  I  am  still  back  at 
the  same  old  place,  and  with  no  more  definite 
prospect  of  getting  out.  Thank  goodness,  from 
what  we  can  get  in  the  papers.  General  Wood 
seems  to  have  tried  to  give  the  people  some  idea 
of  just  what  their  wonderful  aircraft  production 
board  has  accomplished  for  them  with  its  six 
hundred  and  twenty  five  millions  and  its  glorious 
prospectuses.  I  only  hope  that  it  isn't  too  late 
to  get  things  rolling  over  there.  This  certainly 
does  look  as  if  we  were  in  for  a  good  long  run  of 
it,  doesn't  it.'^  Arch  and  I  were  discussing  it,  in 
the  cheerfully  ignorant  fashion  in  which  every- 
one does  who  is  over  here,  and  we  don't  think 
there's  a  chance  of  their  being  beaten  for  a  year 
and  a  half  more.  Or  rather,  we  don't  think  it 
will  last  thru  more  than  one  more  winter.  But 
of  course,  I'd  have  said  the  same  thing  last  fall. 
They  can  certainly  put  over  an  offensive  when 
they  make  up  their  mind  to,  in  spite  of  "insuf- 
ficient man-power"  and  all  the  rest  of  that  line. 
The  one  thing  that  we've  heard  that  has  pleased 
us  in  the  aviation  is  that  their  new  monoplane 
[  145] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


Albatross  was  a  wash  out  and  that  they  have 
gone  back  to  the  old  D3  which  was  so  successful. 
If  we  have  the  D3  we  know  what  we're  up  against. 

I've  loved  all  your  letters,  for  they  say  what's 
going  on  really, — not  what  ought  to  be  going  on, 

if 

May  27. 

I've  just  been  up  in  Paris  again  and  so  natur- 
ally I'm  full  of  news.  Just  last  week  the  Major 
called  me  in  and  said  that  he  knew  I  knew  a  good 
many  French  aviation  oiBBcers,  consequently  if  I 
could  persuade  one  of  their  squadron  commanders 
to  apply  by  name  for  me  and  Ham  (!)  he  would  see 
that  the  request  was  O.  K'd.  by  our  headquarters 
and  that  we  were  transferred  up  there.  You  can 
imagine  how  Ham  and  I  felt !  Its  just  what  we've 
been  trying  to  do  for  ages.  So  with  the  help  of 
Capt.  Pelissin,  who  composed  the  letter,  I  wrote 

to  Capt  de  V who  commands  a  group  of  4 

Spad  squadrons.  We  asked  him  to  apply  for 
Ham  and  me  at  once.  Then  the  Major,  as  he 
knew  of  this,  sent  me  up  to  Paris  on  Sunday  to 
deliver  some  important  papers  that  had  to  go 
[146] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

by  hand.  His  idea  was  that  while  in  Paris  I 
could  go  to  the  French  aviation  H  q  to  arrange 
about  it  which  I  did. 

I  put  in  one  whole  busy  day  chasing  from  one 
office  to  another  soft  soaping  all  sorts  of  French 
officers,  with  **Oui  mon  Capitain,^*  and  "parfaite- 
ment,  mon  commandanV  until  I  began  to  feel 
rather  like  a  phonograph  with  only  one  record. 
However,  I  think  I  got  something  out  of  it, — for 
at  least  two  of  them  have  agreed  to  inform  me  the 
instant  any  action  is  taken. 

Arch  is  getting  along  splendidly.  For  a  while 
I  was  quite  worried  about  him,  but  now  he  seems 
to  be  in  very  much  better  spirits,  and  his  wounds 
are  improving  right  along.  I  had  all  kinds  of  fun 
with  him,  for  we  lunched  together  both  days 
that  I  was  up  there. 

Paris  is  wonderful  fun  now.  Everyone  who 
had  left  when  the  bombardment  started  has 
returned,  and  the  boulevards  are  crowded.  The 
gun  shoots  still  at  intervals  but  its  a  most  dis- 

couragingly    anti-clim (It    isn't    what    you 

think  it  is !) 

[147] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


PART    III — THE   FLIGHT 

Cablegram 
Paris  JuneSth. 

Mrs  Theodore  Roosevelt 

Moving  out  at  last  with  Ham  very  glad  love 

Quentin  Roosevelt 
June  8,  1918. 

•  •  ••  •  •  •  • 

I've  had  so  much  happening  to  me,  tho,  in 
the  last  ten  days,  that  I  have  not  had  time  to 
think  even,  which  is  just  as  well.  Ham  and  I  had 
almost  begun  to  think  we  were  permanently  stuck 
in  Issoudun,  when  with  no  warning,  we  were  or- 
dered up  to  Orly,  which  is  just  outside  of  Paris. 
No  one  knew  anything  about  the  orders,  and  Ham 
and  I  felt  sure  that  it  meant  our  first  step  out  to 
the  front.  Once  the  orders  came,  tho,  we  only  had 
twelve  hours  time  to  settle  everything  up  and 
leave.  You  can  imagine  how  we  hurried,  with  all 
the  goodbyes  to  be  said  and  packing,  and  paying 
bills.  I  thought  we  never  would  get  away,  but 
[148] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


finally  it  was  thru,  and  we  got  in  the  truck  and 
started  to  leave  for  the  main  camp  to  get  our 
clearance  papers.  Then  they  did  one  of  the  nicest 
things  I've  ever  had  happen.  Our  truck  driver 
instead  of  going  out  the  regular  way,  took  us  down 
the  line  of  hangars  and  as  we  went  past  all  the 
mechanics  were  lined  up  in  front  and  cheered  us 
goodbye.  As  we  passed  the  last  hangar  one  of 
the  sergeants  yelled,  after  us,  "Let  us  know  if 
you're  captured  and  we'll  come  after  you."  So  I 
left  with  a  big  lump  in  my  throat,  for  its  nice  to 
know  that  your  men  have  liked  you. 

June  18,  1918. 

•  ••••••• 

At  last,  almost  eleven  months  after  I  left  the 
states,  I'm  doing  what  I  came  over  here  for,  out  at 
the  front.  Its  all  different  from  what  I  thought, 
too,  for  I  am  not  with  the  French  at  all.  You  see, 
while  we  were  down  at  Chartres  telegraphic  or- 
ders came  in  for  us  to  rep>ort  at  once  to  the  First 
Pursuit  Group.  That  is  an  entirely  American 
outfit,  except  for  the  planes  of  course,  Ham  and  I 
[  149] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


have  been  chased  about  so  much  that  we  didn't 
really  believe  we'd  be  put  in  a  squadron  when  we 
got  here,  but  there  were  no  two  ways  about  it,  and 
so  we  started  out  via  Paris  to  comply  with  our 
orders. 

I  had  a  fairly  eventful  run  out  here,  chiefly 
because  the  motorcycle  developed  a  passion  for 
punctures.  After  my  third  in  ten  miles,  I  said 
just  exactly  what  I  thought  of  the  motorcycle  as  I 
got  to  work  repairing  it.  Just  as  I  stopped  talk- 
ing— ^I  had  no  idea  there  was  a  soul  within  miles, 
I  heard  a  voice  behind  me  say  "Priceless  old 
motor-bike, — what !"  I  looked  up  and  saw  one  of 
those  long,  angular  Englishmen,  with  that  thoroly 
blank  expression  which  they  use  to  camoufler  a 
sense  of  humor.  He  had  appeared  out  of  a  path 
behind  me  and  had  apparently  absorbed  my  com- 
ments, anent  motorcycles  as  I  talked  to  it.  I 
had  a  pleasant  discussion  on  things  in  general  with 
him,  the  net  result  being  that  I  dropped  round  to 
his  quarters  and  had  a  drink  of  Scotch  before  mov- 
ing on.  He  was  a  very  good  sort. 
[150] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

Late  in  the  afternoon  I  arrived  here,  to  find 
myself  assigned  to  the  95th  Aero  Squadron.  The 
one  drawback  is  that  Ham  is  assigned  to  the  94th. 
However,  we  work  together  and  have  adjoining 
barracks,  so  things  aren't  as  bad  as  they  might 
be.  Otherwise  everything  is  fine.  I  took  a  half 
hour  ride  yesterday  to  get  used  to  my  plane,  and 
somewhat  to  the  sector.  Then  later  on  I  went 
out  on  a  patrol  just  up  along  the  lines,  to,  as  they 
put  it,  get  used  to  being  (loatlily  split  infinitive) 
shot  at  by  the  Archies.  It  is  really  exciting  at 
first  when  you  see  the  stuff  bursting  in  great  black 
puffs  round  you,  but  you  get  used  to  it  after  fif- 
teen minutes.  To-morrow  I'll  be  working  in  Ger- 
many as  my  flight  is  on  for  reglage  planes'  protec- 
tion. So  far  there  are  very  few  Bosche  in  the 
air, — but  as  tlie  B.  infantry  staged  quite  an  ex- 
tensive little  hate  yesterday  (The  French  for 
hate  is  a  coup  de  main,  by  the  way)  we  think  they 
may  liven  things  up.  There  are  lots  of  Amer- 
icans up  here, — and  we  think  they  may  want  to 
smash  them  up. 

I'll  write  to-morrow,  when  I've  been  over  and 
[151] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


turn  in  an  official  report  of  my  first  visit  to  Ger- 
many. 

June  25 
Its  been  five  weeks  since  I've  heard  from  any 
of  the  family,  so  I  feel  sm'e  I  must  have  com- 
mitted some  horrible  crime  and  be  in  deep  dis- 
grace. From  my  thoroly  black  conscience  I  can 
find  any  number  of  explanations  but  the  one  I 
feel  guiltiest  about  is  that  this  is  the  first  letter 
I've  written  in  three  weeks.  There  is  some  ex- 
cuse tho'  for  I  have  moved  all  over  France  in  that 
length  of  time. 

I  wish  some  one  who  did  know  something  about 
flying  at  the  front  would  go  back,  just  to  talk 
for  a  while  with  the  designers  and  builders  of 
the  Liberty  Motor  and  plane.  Its  going  to  be 
a  long  time  before  that  thing  gets  to  the  front, 
and  tho'  I'm  not  crazy  about  the  bus  I'm  flying 
I'd  be  much  more  comfortable  in  it  than  I  would 
in  a  Liberty  if  I  had  to  go  across  the  lines.  They 
have  no  right  to  send  the  things  over  here,  tell 
the  people  in  the  states  how  wonderful  they  are, 
[152] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


and  llicn  to  expect  us  over  here  to  work  with 
them  whon  each  flight  shows  some  new  defect 
to  be  remedied.  Of  course  they're  all  minor 
defects,  but  still  they've  been  flying  the  planes 
over  here  for  a  month  and  yet  she's  not  ready 
for  the  front  yet. — 

My  last  letter  to  you  was  written  from  the 
French  concentration  camp  at  Chartres,  but  as 
I  know  that  mail  forwarded  to  me  there  never 
reached  me  I  don't  trust  the  out  going  mails  either. 
At  all  events  after  being  ordered  from  Issoudun 
to  go  up  with  the  French,  and  having  put  in  a 
week  at  their  concentration  camp  I  was  ordered 
back  to  the  Americans  again,  this  time  to  go  up 
with  the  first  pursuit  group.  Of  course  I  was 
tremendously  pleased,  for  I  know  all  the  buncli 
up  here,  and  anyway  its  much  nicer  to  be  with 
Americans. 

I  am  now  a  member  of  the  95th  Aero  Squadron, 
1st  Pursuit  Group.  I've  been  having  a  most 
interesting  time,  too.  I've  been  up  on  the  front 
now  for  about  two  weeks.  Its  such  a  change 
after  Issoudun  to  be  out  and  really  doing  some- 
[153] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


thing.  Where  we  first  were  it  was  rather  a  quiet 
sector  and  we  generally  had  to  go  across  the  lines 
before  we  picked  up  any  Boche,  but  just  yester- 
day we  were  moved  down  into  a  hot  sector  quite 
near  Paris,  and  from  all  we  can  gather  there  are 
Boche  here  all  the  time.  I've  had  about  six  or 
seven  hours  over  the  lines  so  far,  and  I'm  just 
beginning  to  get  an  idea  of  what  goes  on  around; 
at  first  you  don't  see  the  Boche  at  all  but  gradu- 
ally you  begin  to  get  on  to  them.  I  can  see  a  cer- 
tain amount  now  of  what's  going  on.  I've  not  got 
any  combats  as  yet  and  the  best  I  can  show  for 
myself  is  a  hole  where  an  archie  went  thru  my 
wing.  The  real  thing  is  that  I'm  on  the  front — 
cheers,  oh  cheers — and  I'm  very  happy. 

I'll  write  again  day  after  tomorrow,  after  our 
first  patrol  of  this  sector,  and  tell  you  what  its 
Hke.  Lots  of  love  to  all  the  family,  and  a  sepa- 
rate special  kind  to  you. 

July  2nd,  1918. 

Even  tho  this  is  an  active  sector  I  haven't  had 
much  excitement  as  yet.     Yesterday  they  kept 
[  154] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

us  pretty  busy,  tho*.  In  the  morning  we  went 
out  for  a  patrol  along  the  ceiling  and  spent  two 
hours  of  cruising  up  and  down  the  line  without 
seeing  anything.  Then  in  the  afternoon  the  in- 
fantry had  a  show  arranged,  in  the  shape  of  a 
2x2  kilometre  push  on  a  seven  kilometre  front. 
That  means  of  course  a  great  deal  of  reglage  and 
photography  work,  so  there  was  a  lot  of  chasse 
work  to  be  done,  what  with  protecting  our  own 
biplanes  and  keeping  off  the  Boche.  We  were 
scheduled  to  fly  on  the  low  level,  at  twenty-five 
hundred  metres,  to  intercept  any  enemy  photog- 
raphers or  reglage  planes.  There  were  two  more 
patrols  above  us,  one  around  four  thousand  and 
one  up  along  the  ceiling,  keeping  off  their  chasse 
planes.  We  didn't  run  into  any  of  their  planes, 
but  there  was  enough  doing  down  below  to  make 
up  for  it.  We  were  too  high  to  make  out  any 
infantry  but  everywhere  the  artillery  were  work- 
ing. The  seven  kilometres  of  attack  ran  from 
a  wood  on  past  a  couple  of  small  villages  and  ended 
up  in  a  fair  sized  town.  They  were  shelling  hard 
all  along  it  and  one  of  the  villages  was  in  flames. 
[155] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


You  could  see  the  white  pufiFs  where  the  shells 
landed  and  then  when  the  smoke  cleared  away, 
the  round  crater  that  they  dug  in  the  ground. 

Altogether  there  was  lots  doing,  and  I  was 
glad  I  was  comfortably  above  it  all,  with  no  worries 
but  two  cold  fingers  and  a  bad  magneto.  When 
we  got  in  we  found  that  tho  we  hadn't  seen  any 
Boche  the  top  flight  had — and  then  some.  There 
were  ten  of  them,  and  they  got  into  a  free  for 
all  with  nine  Fokker  biplanes.  They  had  bad 
luck  with  machine  gun  jams,  and  the  Boche  made 
it  pretty  hot  for  them.  Two  of  them  aren't  back 
— tho  they  may  have  landed  inside  our  lines, — 
and  they  accounted  for  two  and  maybe  three 
Boche.  One  man  got  back  here  with  his  plane 
so  shot  up  that  it  was  nothing  short  of  a  miracle 
that  he  escaped.  He  had  one  centre  section 
shot  away,  and  to  hit  it  the  bullet  must  have 
gone  within  an  inch  of  his  head.  The  whole 
fuselage,  and  one  gas  tank  are  riddled  with  bul- 
lets, and  as  the  Boche  use  explosive  bullets,  that 
fellow  can  thank  his  stars.  I'm  writing  this  in 
the  hangars  as  I'm  on  alerter  but  so  far  no  Boche 
[156] 


THE   WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


have  been  reported.  I  go  on  again  from  six  to  nine 
to-night,  and  as  that's  their  pet  time  I  have  hopes. 
There's  nothing  in  the  world  duller  than  waiting 
in  tlie  hangar  for  an  alerte  that  doesn't  come. 

July  6,  1918. 

Yesterday  our  flight  officer  was  sent  out  to 
patrol  at  thirty -five  hundred  metres  over  about  a 
ten  kilometre  sector  where  some  sort  of  straight- 
ening the  line  action  was  going  on.  Our  orders 
were  not  to  cross  the  line,  or  fight  unless  forced 
to.  For  about  fifteen  minutes  we  chased  up  and 
down,  up  and  down,  with  no  more  excitement 
than  scaring  a  few  reglage  planes  back  into  Ger- 
many. I  was  busy  watching  below  us — I  was 
flying  right — when  I  saw  our  leader  give  the  alert 
signal.  I  hadn't  seen  anything  below,  so  I  looked 
ahead  and  there  up  about  a  thousand  metres,  on 
the  German  side  I  saw  a  patrol  of  six  Boche.  We 
started  climbing  at  once,  and  I  was  having  a  hor- 
rid time,  for  while  the  rest  of  the  formation  closed 
[157] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


in  I  dragged  farther  and  farther  behind.  I  have 
a  bad  motor,  so  that  when  the  rest  hurry  up  they 
leave  me.  There  I  was,  with  only  the  slim  con- 
solation that  the  leader  was  probably  keeping 
his  eye  on  me.  We  climbed  on,  and  I  did  my 
darndest  to  keep  up  and  at  the  same  time  keep 
an  eye  on  the  Boche  who  remained  comfortably 
on  top.  The  next  thing  I  knew,  a  shadow  came 
across  my  plane,  and  there,  about  two  hundred 
metres  above  me,  and  looking  as  big  as  all  out- 
doors was  a  Boche.  He  was  so  near  I  could  make 
out  the  red  stripes  around  his  fuselage.  I'm 
free  to  confess  that  I  was  scared  blue.  I  was 
behind  the  rest  of  the  formation,  and  he  had  all 
the  altitude.  So  I  pushed  on  the  stick,  prayed 
for  motor,  and  watched  out  of  the  corner  of  my 
eye  to  see  his  elevators  go  down,  and  have  his 
tracers  shooting  by  me.  However,  for  some 
reason  he  didn't  attack,  instead  he  took  a  few 
general  shots  at  the  lot  and  then  swung  back  to 
his  formation.  Our  only  explanation  is  that  he 
didn't  want  to  fight  in  our  lines, — he  had  every 
kind  of  advantage  over  us.  Lord,  but  I  was 
[158] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 

glad  when  he  left.  When  I  got  back  they  decided 
to  pull  my  motor,  so  I  was  given  another  plane 
for  this  morning,  which  belongs  to  a  fellow  who's 
sick. 

We  went  out  on  patrol  again,  this  time  at  five 
thousand  and  started  over  across,  hunting  for 
trouble.  A  couple  of  kilometres  inside  the  line 
we  spotted  six  of  them  about  a  thousand  metres 
below  us.  We  circled  and  came  back  between 
them  and  the  sun,  and  dove  on  them.  They 
never  saw  us  until  we  started  shooting  so  we  had 
them  cold.  I  had  miserable  luck — I  had  my  man 
just  where  I  wanted,  was  piquing  down  on  him, 
(he  was  a  monoplane)  and  after  getting  good  and 
close,  set  my  sight  on  him  and  pulled  the  trigger. 
My  gun  shot  twice  and  then  jammed.  It  was 
really  awfully  hard  luck,  for  I  couldn't  fix  it.  The 
feed  box  had  slipped,  so  she  only  fired  one  shot 
at  a  time,  and  tlien  quit.  I  did  everything  I 
could,  but  finally  had  to  give  up  and  come  home, 
as  we  were  about  fifteen  kilometres  their  side  of 
the  line.  As  the  papers  put  it,  tho',  "a  success- 
ful evening  was  had  by  all."  We  got  three  of 
[159] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


them —  They  weren't  the  circus  of  course.  We 
lost  one  man,  tho',  and  we  aren't  sure  how.  We 
rather  think  his  motor  must  have  gone  dead  on 
him,  and  forced  him  to  land  in  Germany.  So 
things  are  looking  more  interesting  around  here, 
and  I've  had  my  first  real  fight.  I  was  doubtful 
before, — for  I  thought  I  might  get  cold  feet,  or 
something,  but  you  don't.  You  get  so  excited 
that  you  forget  everything  except  getting  the 
other  fellow,  and  trying  to  dodge  the  tracers, 
when  they  start  streaking  past  you. 

July  11,  1918. 

There's  lots  doing  in  this  sector.  We  lost  an- 
other fellow  from  our  squadron  three  days  ago. 
However,  you  get  lots  of  excitement  to  make  up 
for  it,  and  nearly  every  patrol  we  run  into  some 
of  them.  We've  moved  again,  this  time  only 
ten  kilometres.  It's  a  much  smaller  field  than 
the  other,  but  it's  nearer  the  front  by  those  ten 
kilometres,  and  the  other  was  really  too  big  for 
us.  Also,  I  like  my  quarters  much  better.  I'm 
[160] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


billeted  in  a  little  French  town  near  the  field.  I 
room  with  Ed  Tliomas,  our  transportation  oflBcer, 
in  a  delightful  room.  It's  in  one  of  those  white, 
plaster  houses  with  tile  roofs  that  sag  in  between 
the  rafters,  and  an  impossible  weather  cock  on 
the  chimney  that  doesn't  work  as  there's  a  spar- 
row's nest  in  between  its  legs.  The  room  is  on 
the  ground  floor, — with  a  window  on  each  side, 
one  where  you  can  watch  everything  that's  going 
on  in  the  street,  and  the  other  looking  out  on  a 
garden  that's  all  in  bloom.  Its  spotlessly  clean, 
\dth  red  tiled  floor,  and  a  huge  grandfather's 
clock  ticking  solemnly  in  the  corner. 

The  old  lady  who  owns  the  house  is  equally 
delightful.  She's  a  little  bit  of  a  dried  up  person, 
at  least  as  old  as  the  hills,  with  gold  rimmed  spec- 
tacles, the  red  cheeks  that  all  these  country  folk 

have,  and  a  beard  that  even might  be  proud 

of.  At  first  she  regarded  me  with  deep  suspicion,  '-^  r 
but  I've  now  succeeded  in  winning  her  over.  She 
thawed  a  little  when  she  found  I  talked  French 
— but  the  thing  that  won  her  over  completely 
was  her  dog.  When  I  first  came  in  I  was  greeted 
[161] 


iz-^c^ 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


with  furious  barkings  and  growlings.  By  a  strong 
mental  effort  I  succeeded  in  showing  no  outward 
and  visible  signs  of  my  inward  and  spiritual  doubt, 
and  walked  on  past  him.  That  night,  as  I  was 
sitting  reading  the  old  lady  appeared  and  with 
her  the  dog,  who  solemnly  advanced,  wagged  his 
tail,  and  then  put  his  head  on  my  knee  to  be 
patted.  After  that  the  old  lady  and  I  became 
fast  friends  and  now  I  am  Monsieur  Quentin 
and  a  privileged  person.  Among  other  things 
she  told  me  that  she  had  had  German  officers 
quartered  in  her  house  in  1870  and  then  again 
in  1914.    Think  of  it. 

I  got  my  first  real  excitement  on  the  front  for 
I  think  I  got  a  Boche.  The  Operations  Officer 
is  trying  for  confirmation  on  it  now.  I  was  out 
on  high  patrol  with  the  rest  of  my  squadron  when 
we  got  broken  up,  due  to  a  mistake  in  formation. 
I  dropped  into  a  turn  of  a  vriUe — these  planes 
have  so  little  surface  that  at  five  thousand  you 
can't  do  much  with  them.  When  I  got  straight- 
ened out  I  couldn't  spot  my  crowd  any  where,  so, 
as  I  had  only  been  up  an  hour,  I  decided  to  fool 
[162] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  EAGLE 


around  a  little  before  going  home,  as  I  was  just 
over  the  lines.  I  turned  and  circled  for  five  min- 
utes or  so,  and  then  suddenly, — the  way  planes 
do  come  into  focus  in  the  air,  I  saw  three  planes 
in  formation.  At  first  I  thought  they  were 
Boche,  but  as  they  paid  no  attention  to  me  I 
finally  decided  to  chase  them,  thinking  they  were 
part  of  my  crowd,  so  I  started  after  them  full 
speed.  I  thought  at  the  time  it  was  a  little  strange, 
with  the  wind  blowing  the  way  it  was,  that  they 
should  be  going  almost  straight  into  Germany, 
but  I  had  plenty  of  gas  so  I  kept  on. 

They  had  been  going  absolutely  straight  and  I 
was  nearly  in  formation  when  the  leader  did  a 
turn,  and  I  saw  to  my  horror  that  they  had  white 
tails  with  black  crosses  on  them.  Still  I  was  so 
near  by  them  that  I  thought  I  might  pull  up  a 
little  and  take  a  crack  at  them.  I  had  altitude 
on  them,  and  what  was  more  they  hadn't  seen 
me,  so  I  pulled  up,  put  my  sights  on  the  end  man, 
and  let  go.  I  saw  my  tracers  going  all  around 
him,  but  for  some  reason  he  never  even  turned, 
until  all  of  a  sudden  his  tail  came  up  and  he  went 
down  in  a  vrille.  I  wanted  to  follow  him  but  the 
f  103  1 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


other  two  had  started  around  after  me,  so  I  had 
to  cut  and  run.  However,  I  could  half  watch 
him  looking  back,  and  he  was  still  spinning  when 
he  hit  the  clouds  three  thousand  meters  below. 
Of  course  he  may  have  just  been  scared,  but  I 
think  he  must  have  been  hit,  or  he  would  have 
come  out  before  he  struck  the  clouds.  Three 
thousand  meters  is  an  awfully  long  spin. 

I  had  a  long  chase  of  it  for  they  followed  me 
all  the  way  back  to  our  side  of  the  lines,  but  our 
speed  was  about  equal  so  I  got  away.  The  trouble 
is  that  it  was  about  twenty  kilometers  inside  their 
lines,  and  I  am  afraid,  too  far  to  get  confirmation. 

At  the  moment  every  one  is  very  much  pleased 
in  our  Squadron  for  we  are  getting  new  planes. 
We  have  been  using  Nieuports,  which  have  the 
disadvantage  of  not  being  particularly  reliable 
and  being  inclined  to  catch  fire. 

The  victory  recounted  in  this  letter  was  after- 
ward verified  by  the  French,  and  duly  credited; 
but  the  verification  was  not  recorded  until  after 
Quentin  had  fallen. 

[164] 


CHAPTER  m 
THE  LAST  PATROL 

Oyster  Bay,  July  17,  1918. 
"  Quentin*s  mother  and  I  are  glad  that  lie  got  to 
the  front  and  had  tlie  chance  to  render  some  service 
to  his  country^  and  to  show  the  stuff  that  was  in  him 
before  his  fate  befell  him.'* 

"On  July  fourteenth  the  French  were  to  cele- 
brate and  asked  us  to  contribute  a  number  in  a 
theatre  in  a  nearby  town,  so  I  appointed  Quentin 
Roosevelt  to  get  up  the  entertainment.  He 
raked  up  all  the  musical  talent, — the  French  are 
very  fond  of  American  ragtime  and  banjos — and 
the  night  before  he  came  into  my  room  and  sat 
on  my  bed,  telling,  with  a  great  deal  of  humor, 
of  what  he  had  done.  The  next  day  at  noon  I 
called  up  to  arrange  about  getting  his  party  into 
town  when  I  heard  he  was  reported  missing.'* 

When   Quentin   failed    to   turn    up,    Hamilton 
Coolidge,  who  was  serving  in  the  94th  Squadron, 
[165] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


and  Philip  Roosevelt,  who  was  Operations  Officer 
of  the  First  Pursuit  Group,  left  no  stone  unturned 
to  learn  his  fate.  The  inevitable  crust  that 
hardens  one  who  is  daily  meeting  death  was  but 
small  protection  to  them  against  the  blow. 
Coolidge  wrote: 

Dear  Mrs.  Roosevelt—  ^"^^  ^^ 

In  this  awful  period  of  suspense  when  we  don't 
know  whether  Quentin  is  dead  or  alive  I  feel  that 
the  best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  tell  you  in  detail  the 
circumstances  of  his  disappearance.  On  the  morn- 
ing of  the  Fourteenth  a  report  came  in  to  Quen- 
tin's  squadron,  which  was  the  one  on  duty  at 
that  time,  that  Boches  were  crossing  the  lines  in 
the  north  eastern  part  of  our  sector.  Accord- 
ingly a  patrol  of  nine  men,  Q  among  them,  set 
off  to  find  the  Huns.  Just  over  the  lines  they 
encountered  a  Boche  patrol  of  seven.  The  wind 
was  blowing  into  their  territory  and  the  air  was 
hazy  even  above  the  "ceiling"  (a  solid  layer  of 
clouds)  which  lay  at  about  two  thousand  meters 
altitude.  The  Boches  at  once  started  retreating 
[166] 


THE  LAST  PATROL 


and  a  running  fight  began.  This  soon  developed 
into  a  series  of  individual  combats  during  which 
the  patrols  became  broken  up.  The  combats  did 
not  take  place  at  very  close  range  as  the  Huns 
had  no  desire  to  fight.  They  succeeded  however 
in  drawing  our  men  further  and  further  into  their 
territory.  The  combats  finally  ceased  and  the 
men  all  made  for  home  individually,  groping  their 
way  through  the  clouds  and  mist  largely  by  aid 
of  their  compasses.  No  one  remembers  having 
seen  Quentin  after  the  shooting  began,  but  this 
is  entirely  natural.  Several  of  the  men  lost  their 
way  or  were  forced  to  come  down  for  gasoline 
soon  after  recrossing  the  lines;  it  is  quite  likely 
that  one  of  these  things  happened  to  Quentin. 
Capt.  Phihp  Roosevelt  yesterday  interviewed  an 
observer  who  distinctly  saw  an  allied  plane  de- 
scend "piquing  sharply,  but  not  in  flames  and 
apparently  under  control."  The  place  and  time 
he  gave  corresponded  exactly  to  those  of  Quen- 
tin's  combat,  so  it  is  safe  to  assume  that  it  was  he. 
The  fact  that  his  plane  was  neither  spinning  nor 
in  flames  as  it  came  down  makes  me  believe  that 
[167] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


he  landed  safely.  There  are  many  good  reasons 
why  he  should  have  been  "piquing  sharply" — 
perhaps  to  escape  from  pursuers  in  superior  force, 
perhaps  again,  because  he  was  wounded  and 
wished  to  land  before  becoming  faint.  I  have 
talked  to  the  men  on  his  patrol  and  almost  all 
seem  to  think  that  he  is  a  prisoner  and  was  not 
shot  down. 

Everything  possible  is  being  done  to  find  out 
news  of  Quentin,  but  at  this  critical  time  re- 
ports do  not  come  through  or  receive  confirmation 
very  rapidly.  Of  course  you  will  hear  through 
the  Associated  Press  any  news  that  may  develop, 
much  more  quickly  than  I  could  cable  it,  but 
you  may  be  sure  that  I  shall  forward  to  you 
immediately  any  information  which  may  have 
escaped  the  notice  of  the  Associated  Press  corre- 
spondents. I  have  packed  all  Quent*s  things 
and  sent  them  by  truck  to  Mrs.  Ted  Roosevelt, 
39  Rue  Villejust,  Paris,  where,  God  grant  he  may 
find  them  again  before  long. 

Affectionate  regards  to  you  and  Mr.  Roosevelt — 

Hamilton  Coolidge. 
[168] 


THE  LAST  PATROL 


Months  later,  shortly  before  his  own  fate  over- 
took Ijini,  he  wrote: 

"Death  is  certainly  not  a  black  unmentionable 
thing,  and  I  feel  that  dead  people  should  be  talked 
of  just  as  though  they  were  alive.  At  mess  and 
sitting  around  in  our  quarters  the  boys  that  have 
been  killed  are  spoken  of  all  the  time  when  any 
little  thing  reminds  some  one  of  them.  To  me 
Quentin  is  just  away  somewhere.  I  know  we 
shall  see  each  again  and  have  a  grand  old  'hoosh' 
talking  over  everything  together.  I  miss  him 
the  way  I  miss  mother  or  the  family,  for  his  per- 
sonality or  spirit  are  just  as  real  and  vivid  as  they 
ever  were." 

Lieutenant  Edward  Buford,  Jr.,  was  also  re- 
ported missing,  but  landed  safely  on  a  French 
aerodrome.  He  had  seen  Quentin's  last  fight, 
and  described  it  in  a  letter  to  his  family,  written 
several  months  later: 

[Father  dear:-  Sept.  Sth,  1918. 

[You  asked  me  if  I  knew  Quentin  Roosevelt. 
Yes,  I  knew  him  very  well  indeed,  and  had  been 
[169] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


associated  with  him  ever  since  I  came  to  France 
and  he  was  one  of  the  finest  and  most  courageous 
boys  I  ever  knew.  I  was  in  the  fight  when  he 
was  shot  down  and  saw  the  whole  thing. 

Four  of  us  were  out  on  an  early  patrol  and  we 
had  just  crossed  the  lines  looking  for  Boche  ob- 
servation machines,  when  we  ran  into  seven  Fok- 
ker  Chasse  planes.  They  had  the  altitude  and 
the  advantage  of  the  Sun  on  us.  It  was  very 
cloudy  and  there  was  a  strong  wind  blowing  us 
farther  across  the  lines  all  the  time.  The  leader 
of  our  formation  turned  and  tried  to  get  back 
out,  but  they  attacked  before  we  reached  the 
lines,  and  in  a  few  seconds  had  completely  broken 
up  our  formation  and  the  fight  developed  in  a 
general  free-for-all.  I  tried  to  keep  an  eye  on 
all  of  our  fellows  but  we  were  hopelessly  separated 
and  out-numbered  nearly  two  to  one.  About  a 
half  a  mile  away  I  saw  one  of  our  planes  with 
three  Boche  on  him,  and  he  seemed  to  be  having 
a  pretty  hard  time  with  them,  so  I  shook  the  two 
I  was  manouvering  with  and  tried  to  get  over  to 
him,  but  before  I  could  reach  them,  our  machine 
[  170  ] 


THE  LAST  PATROL 


turned  over  on  its  back  and  plunged  down  out  of 
control.  I  realized  it  was  too  late  to  be  of  any  as- 
sistance and  as  none  of  our  other  machines  were 
in  [sight,  I  made  for  a  bank  of  clouds  to  try 
and  gain  altitude  on  the  Huns,  and  when  I  came 
back  out,  they  had  reformed,  but  there  were 
only  six  of  them,  so  I  believe  we  must  have 
gotten  one. 

I  waited  around  about  ten  minutes  to  see  if  I 
could  pick  up  any  of  our  fellows,  but  they  had 
disappeared,  so  I  came  on  home,  dodging  from 
one  cloud  to  another  for  fear  of  running  into  an- 
other Boche  formation.  Of  course,  at  the  time 
of  the  fight  I  did  not  know  who  the  pilot  was  I 
had  seen  go  down,  but  as  Quentin  did  not  come 
back,  it  must  have  been  him.  His  loss  was  one 
of  the  severest  blows  we  have  ever  had  in  the 
Squadron,  but  he  certainly  died  fighting,  for  any 
one  of  us  could  have  gotten  away  as  soon  as  the 
scrap  started  with  the  clouds  as  they  were  that 
morning.  I  have  tried  several  times  to  write  to 
Col.  Roosevelt  but  it  is  practically  impossible 
for  me  to  write  a  letter  of  condolence,  but  if  I 
[171] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


am  lucky  enough  to  get  back  to  the  States,  I  ex- 
pect to  go  to  see  him. 

Two  days  after  Quentin  fell  the  following  Ger- 
man communique  was  intercepted  by  our  wireless : 

"On  July  fourteen  seven  of  our  chasing  planes 
were  attacked  by  a  superior  number  of  American 
planes  north  of  Dormans.  After  a  stubborn  fight, 
one  of  the  pilots — Lieutenant  Roosevelt, — who 
had  shown  conspicuous  bravery  during  the  fight 
by  attacking  again  and  again  without  regard  to 
danger,  was  shot  in  the  head  by  his  more  experi- 
enced opponent  and  fell  at  Chamery."  I 

Not  long  afterward  a  German  official  bulletin 
was  found  on  a  prisoner: 

Group  "Jeporen"  (name  of  the  general?) 
General  Command  Headquarters. 

Ic? — The  Intelligence  officer,  in  the  name  of  the  General. 
No.  128185. 

Army  Corps  Headquarters, 

the  24th  of  July,  1918. 

Edition  including  even  the  Companies,  except  those 
which  are  just  now  on  the  first  lines,  and  which 
will  be  only  mentioned  after  their  relief. 

[172] 


THE  LAST  PATROL 


Sheet  of  Information,  No.  10. 
from  the  i21st  of  July  to  the  23rd  of  July,  1918. 

THE  SON  OF  FORMER  PRESIDENT  OF 
THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA, 
ROOSEVELT,  FOUND  DEATH  IN  AN 
AERIAL  FIGHT  ON  THE  MARNE 

At  the  time  of  a  struggle  between  a  German 
pursuit  squadron  of  seven  machines  and  twelve 
American  pursuit  aviators  above  the  Marne,  a 
fight  took  place  between  the  German  pursuit  pilot 
non-commissioned  officer  Greper  and  an  American 
pilot.  After  a  long  fight,  the  German  flyer  suc- 
ceeded in  bringing  down  his  gallant  antagonist. 

The  hostile  airman  had  been  killed  by  two 
bullets  in  the  head.  He  was  identified  by  his 
papers  as  Lieutenant  Roosevelt,  of  the  U.  S.  A. 
Flying  Corps. 

A  clipping  from  the  Kolnische  Zeitung  obtained 
through  the  Spanish  Embassy  gave  this  account 
of  the  fight: 

"The  aviator  of  the  American  Squadron,  Quen- 
[173] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


tin  Roosevelt,  in  trying  to  break  through  the  air 
zone  over  the  Marne,  met  the  death  of  a  hero. 
A  formation  of  seven  German  aeroplanes,  while 
crossing  the  Marne,  saw  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Dormans  a  group  of  twelve  American  fighting 
aeroplanes  and  attacked  them.  A  lively  air  bat- 
tle began,  in  which  one  American  in  particular 
persisted  in  attacking.  The  principal  feature  of 
the  battle  consisted  in  an  air  duel  between  the 
American  and  a  German  fighting  pilot,  named 
Sergeant  Greper.  After  a  short  struggle  Greper 
succeeded  in  bringing  the  brave  American  just 
before  his  gun-sights.  After  a  few  shots  the  plane 
apparently  got  out  of  his  control;  the  American 
began  to  fall  and  struck  the  ground  near  the  vil- 
lage of  Chamery,  about  ten  kilometres  north  of 
the  Marne.  The  American  flyer  was  killed  by 
two  shots  through  the  head.  Papers  in  his  pocket 
showed  him  to  be  Quentin  Roosevelt,  of  the  United 
States  army.  His  effects  are  being  taken  care  of 
in  order  to  be  sent  to  his  relatives.  He  was  buried 
by  German  aviators  with  military  honors." 
The  German  pilot  who  shot  down  Quentin 
I  174  ] 


THE   LAST  PATROL 


Roosevelt  told  of  counting  twenty  bullet-holes 
in  his  machine,  when  he  landed  after  the  fight. 
He  survived  the  war  but  was  killed  in  an  accident 
while  engaged  in  delivering  German  airplanes  to 
the  American  Forces  under  the  terms  of  the 
Armistice. 

The  funeral  services  held  by  the  Germans  were 
witnessed  on  July  fifteen  by  Captain  James  E. 
Gee  of  the  110th  Infantry,  who  had  been  captured, 
and  was  being  evacuated  to  the  rear.  Captain 
Gee  passed  through  Chamery,  the  little  village 
near  which  the  plane  crashed  to  earth.  He  thus 
describes  the  scene: 

[  "In  a  hollow  square  about  the  open  grave  were 
assembled  approximately  one  thousand  German 
soldiers,  standing  stiffly  in  regular  lines.  They 
were  dressed  in  field  gray  uniforms,  wore  steel 
helmets,  and  carried  rifles.  Officers  stood  at  at- 
tention before  the  ranks.  Near  the  grave  was 
the  smashed  plane,  and  beside  it  was  a  small  group 
of  officers,  one  of  whom  was  speaking  to  the  men. 

I  "I  did  not  pass  close  enough  to  hear  what  he 

was  saying;  we  were  prisoners  and  did  not  have 

[175] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


the  privilege  of  lingering,  even  for  such  an  occa- 
sion as  this.  At  the  time  I  did  not  know  who 
was  being  buried,  but  the  guards  informed  me 
later.  The  funeral  certainly  was  elaborate.  I 
was  told  afterward  by  Germans  that  they  paid 
Lieut.  Roosevelt  such  honor  not  only  because 
he  was  a  gallant  aviator,  who  died  fighting  bravely 
against  odds,  but  because  he  was  the  son  of  Colonel 
Roosevelt,  whom  they  esteemed  as  one  of  the 
greatest  Americans." 

On  July  18,  in  the  great  allied  counter-attack, 
the  village  where  Quentin  fell  was  retaken  from 
the  Germans,  and  his  grave  was  found  by  some 
American  soldiers.  At  its  head  was  a  wooden 
cross,  on  which  was  printed: 

Lieutenant  Roosevelt 
Buried  by  the  Germans. 

Following  the  custom  that  sprang  up  in  the 
heroic  soil  of  the  air-service,  the  broken  propeller- 
blades  and  bent  and  scarred  wheels  of  the  plane 
were  marking  his  resting-place. 

Near  by  lay  the  shattered  remains  of  the  air- 

^  [  176  ] 


THE   LAST  PATROL 


plane,  with  the  seventy-six  "wound  stripes"  which 
Qiicntin  had  painted  on  it,  still  to  be  seen. 

The  engineer  regiment  of  the  division  that 
had  retaken  Chamery  marked  the  spot  where  the 
airplane  fell,  and  raised  a  cross  at  the  grave  with 
the  inscription : 

Here  rests  on  the  field  of  honor 

Quentin  Roosevelt 

Air  Service  U.  S.  A. 

Killed  in  action  July  1918. 

The  French  placed  an  oaken  enclosure  with  a 
head-board  reading: 

Lieutenant 

Quentin  Roosevelt 

Escadrille  95 

Tombe  glorieusement 

En  combat  aerien 

Le  14  Juillet  1918 

Pour  le  droit 

Et  la  liberte. 

A  young  American  officer  in  a  letter  to  his 
family  thus  described  the  arrival  of  the  tribute 
from  the  French: 

[177] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


;  "Oh  yes, — one  little  episode  of  the  other  day 
might  be  of  interest.  I  was  back  of  the  Hnes  on 
a  truck,  in  search  of  kitchen  utensils  and  other 
things  for  the  men,  when  down  the  road  came  a 
big  open  truck  loaded  with  something  which 
looked  like  a  gigantic  wooden  bed — perhaps  twelve 
feet  long  and  eight  feet  wide.  At  the  head  of  it 
there  was  a  large  shield,  and  above  this  a  carved 
wooden  cross.  Did  I  not  know  the  French  idea  of 
homage  to  the  dead,  I  would  not  have  recognized 
what  it  was.  As  we  went  by,  I  looked  at  the 
shield — in  large  carved  letters  I  saw  the  words 
*Quentin  Roosevelt.'  You  see  he  is  buried  not 
far  to  our  rear.  It  was  a  bit  of  French  tribute, 
for,  to  these  people,  there  is  no  man  like  Roose- 
velt. They  still  talk  about  him,  and  their  eyes 
snap  whenever  his  name  is  mentioned.  He  com- 
mands their  profound  respect:  they  consider  him 
their  friend;  this  was  the  only  way  they  could 
show  it." 

Many  very  beautiful  letters  were  written  to 
Quentin's  father  and  mother  by  those  who  visited 
the  grave;  from  them  three  have  been  selected. 
[178] 


THE  LAST  PATROL 


The  first  is  from  Bishop  Brent,  the  second  from 
a  lifelong  friend  of  the  family,  Doctor  Alexander 
Lambert,  and  the  third  from  the  Reverend  C.  A. 
WTiite  of  Chicago: 

Chamery  14th  Aug.  1918. 

1  I  am  standing  by  Quentin's  resting  place  where 
he  lies  on  the  Field  of  Honor.  I  came  up  on  duty 
near  Fismes  and  learned  quite  by  accident  that 
we  would  pass  by  the  grave.  It  is  at  the  bottom 
of  a  shell  scarred  slope.  The  cross  is  supported 
by  the  shaft  of  his  plane,  and  the  twisted  wheels 
are  against  the  brick  fence.  There  is  a  reversed 
rifle  at  the  foot,  at  the  head  behind  the  cross  a 
trench  knife.  There  are  some  little  tributes  on 
the  grave — one  from  Evangeline  Booth.  It  is  a 
month  today  since  Quentin  flew  to  his  fate.  Dr. 
Macfarland  is  with  me  and  we  said  some  prayers 
for  him  and  for  all  of  you.  There  are  two  sol- 
diers of  the  Division  here  who  fought  over 

this  very  ground  and  drove  the  Germans  across 

the  river.     We  are  still  in  the  zone  of  action  and 

the  storm  of  battle  is  raging,  though  all  is  peace- 

[179  1 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


ful  at  this  spot.    Tonight  I  am  to  be  with  some 
of  our  chaplains  at  a  dressing  station. 

C.  H.  B. 

"I  do  not  know  if  any  one  has  told  you  of  the 
kind  of  country  around  Chamery,  the  little  vil- 
lage four  hundred  yards  from  which  he  is.  It  is 
seven  to  eight  miles  North  of  the  Marne  directly 
north  of  Jaulgonne  on  the  river  just  above  a  swing- 
ing curve  of  the  road  above  Cierge.  The  country 
is  a  rolling  grassy  open  hilly  place,  with  only  here 
and  there  small  patches  of  woods.  Last  Tuesday 
I  found  some  one  had  planted  some  pansies  on 
the  grave  and  there  were  other  flowers.  Evi- 
dently some  one  is  looking  after  the  place  care- 
fully, because  no  faded  flowers  collect  there.  \ 

"  Two  months  ago  I  went  there  to  find  the  place 
and  took  with  me  Colonel  Elliot  of  the  British 
Service.  We  were  still  fighting  in  Fismes  a  few 
miles  north.  A  Field  Hospital  stood  on  a  ridge 
a  mile  away  and  troops  were  going  steadily  north 
along  the  road  through  Chamery  to  Fismes.  I 
walked  through  a  harvested  oat  field  with  little 
[180] 


THE  LAST  PATROL 


purple  flowers  scattered  through  it.  I  gathered 
handfuls  and  so  did  Elliot,  and  as  we  stood  by 
the  stone  which  marks  the  place  where  the  ma- 
chine struck,  some  fifty  feet  from  the  grave,  we 
saw  coming  up  the  side  road  a  staff  officer  on 
horse  back,  and  along  a  path  worn  out  across 
the  field  from  the  main  road,  trudged  a  line  of 
American  soldiers  from  the  battalion  halted  in 
the  village  on  their  way  to  Fismes.  The  boys 
picked  flowers  on  the  way  and  stood  in  a  group 
aroimd  Quentin's  grave,  and  laid  their  flowers 
where  we  had  lain  ours.  Elliot  exclaimed:  'That 
is  the  real  American  spirit,  an  unconscious  and 
loyal  tribute  to  what  both  the  boy  and  his  Father 
have  stood  for.' 

"It  must  be  some  comfort  to  realize  for  how 
great  a  cause  Quentin  laid  down  his  splendid 
personality.'*  .     j 

Chicago  Oct  30  1918 
I  am  not  sure  that  I  do  either  of  you  a  kind- 
ness in  sending  you  this  letter.     If  it  is  a  mistake 
on  my  part  charge  it  to  the  feelings  of  a  father 
[181] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


who  has  a  son  "somewhere  in  France."  A  few 
weeks  ago  I  motored  some  miles  from  the  then 
Vesle  battle  front  to  the  grave  of  your  son  Quen- 
tin.  I  believe  it  would  be  a  comfort  to  you  both 
if  you  could  see  his  noble  resting  place  in  the  soil 
of  France  as  I  saw  it.  The  day  was  beautiful. 
Sunshine  everywhere.  A  company  of  boys  in 
khaki  march  past,  eager,  active,  on  their  way  to 
the  front.  There  are  no  other  marked  graves 
near.  The  very  isolation  and  the  immediate 
calmness  of  the  scene  seemed  to  me  splendid. 
Yet  the  roar  of  the  guns  along  the  Vesle  front 
could  be  heard.  Captive  balloons  both  Boche 
and  Allied  floated  lazily  along  the  battle  line  a 
few  miles  away.  Air  planes  whirred  overhead 
and  now  and  then  one  with  the  sinister  black 
Iron  Cross  of  the  Hun  on  it  shot  across  the  sky. 
A  noble  burial  place  it  seemed  to  me  for  a  brave 
American  like  your  son.  The  grave  is  in  the  midst 
of  a  broad  rolling  country,  at  the  foot  of  a  gentle 
slope  which  beyond  the  grave  drops  rather  sharply 
to  a  more  level  field.  The  view  in  every  direction 
is  practically  unobstructed  for  several  miles  ex- 
[182] 


THE  LAST  PATROL 


cept  by  the  near  sloping  hill  side.  As  of  course 
you  know  a  simple  fence  incloses  the  grave,  some 
simple  plants,  I  think  a  few  faded  flowers,  all 
indicative  of  the  loving  thoughtfulness  of  some 
one.  Here  where  he  fell  doing  his  whole  duty 
your  son  sleeps  in  the  bosom  of  France.  It  is  a 
brave  place  to  rest  after  one's  work  is  done,  peace- 
ful now  that  the  battle  front  has  rolled  back  to 
the  Aisne.  Nature  is  busy  making  this  great 
battle  field  beautiful  again.  She  is  growing 
grasses  around  the  edges  of  shell  holes,  and  scat- 
tering some  blood  red  poppies  here  and  there. 
Your  hearts  would  find  a  great  peace  I  am  sure 
if  you  could  just  see  where  your  boy  sleeps. 

C.  A.  W. 

Don  Martin  thus  described  the  scene  in  a 
despatch : 

"Word  that  the  grave  of  the  young  lieutenant 
had  been  found  spread  rapidly.  An  American 
division  was  encamped  near  by  at  the  time.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  estimate  the  number  of  Amer- 
icans who  have  made  the  pilgrimage  to  the  grave 
[183] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


since  It  was  located.  It  is  about  five  hundred 
feet  off  a  small,  slightly  used  road,  on  a  little  ledge 
of  earth  overlooking  a  gorgeous  panorama.  Paths 
have  been  worn  to  the  grave  from  a  half  dozen 
different  points — worn  by  American  soldiers,  who 
are  still  walking  sometimes  five  and  six  miles 
just  to  see  the  spot  and  pay  reverence  to  the  young 
American  who  to  serve  his  country  entered  the 
most  dangerous  branch  of  the  service." 

Quentin's  death  called  forth  many  editorials 
that  flamed  forth  genuine  feeling.  Three  have 
been  chosen,  two  American  and  one  French.  The 
first  is  from  the  Boston  Transcript: 

LIEUTENANT   QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 

"Not  with  evil  intention,  but  doubtless  in  ac- 
cordance with  what  they  regard  as  chivalrous, 
the  Germans  have  dropped  upon  our  advance 
lines  in  France  what  is  nevertheless  a  poisoned 
dart,  for  it  is  the  news  that  Lieutenant  Quentin 
Roosevelt  is  indeed  dead.  This  word  will  bring 
poignant  sorrow  to  millions  of  Americans.  And 
the  sorrow  will  not  be  merely  sympathy  for  the 
[184] 


THE  LAST  PATROL 


distinguished  family  now  bereaved  of  its  youngest 
son,  its  Joseph  and  its  Absalom;  it  is  sorrow  of 
the  people's  own,  who  find  in  this  brave  youth 
the  type  and  representative  of  their  own  dearest 
attachments.  It  is  the  fortune  of  Theodore 
Roosevelt  to  dramatize  many  sentiments  and 
qualities  dear  to  the  people — the  home  spirit 
and  the  home  treasure;  service  and  sacrifice  for 
country;  and  the  hopes  and  aspirations  that  are 
common  to  us  all.  The  people  therefore  feel  the 
death  of  young  Roosevelt,  typical  boy  of  all  our 
boys,  in  a  manner  tenser  than  if  they  were  mourn- 
ing merely  with  another. 

"Just  a  boy,  for  he  was  not  yet  twenty-one 
years  of  age,  following  or  side  by  side  with  his 
brothers,  all  of  them,  young  Quentin  Roosevelt 
went,  seeking  the  most  daring  service;  and  first 
of  them  all  he  has  fallen  to  his  death.  The  coun- 
try simply  stands  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  the 
heroic  father,  who  says,  *A  great  fight  and  a  good 
death;  trust  him,  he  would  not  fail.'  Pride, 
but  a  tender  pride;  a  kind  of  high  rejoicing,  but 
with  tears  in  it,  especially  tears:  for  the  devoted 
[185] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


mother;  for  a  thousand  bereavements  exactly  like 
it  march  hand  in  hand  with  this  bereavement, 
and  it  is  the  forerunner  of  many  more  thousands 
yet  to  come.  All  our  boyhoods  are  in  Quentin's 
today;  he  is  the  volunteer  of  all  our  volunteers: 

"  *  He  leapt  to  arms  unbidden, 
1  Unneeded,  over-bold; 

His  face  by  earth  is  hidden, 
His  heart  in  earth  is  cold. 

Curse  on  the  reckless  daring 
That  could  not  wait  the  call. 

The  proud  fantastic  bearing 
That  would  be  first  to  fall ! 

O  tears  of  human  passion, 

Blur  not  the  image  true; 
This  was  not  folly's  fashion, 

This  was  the  man  we  knew.' " 

The  second  is  from  Reedy 's  Mirror — St.  Louis: 

THE  ROOSEVELTS 

"How  everybody's  heart  goes  out  to  Colonel 
and  Mrs.  Roosevelt  in  sympathy  over  the  death 
of   their   son   Quentin !     The   outburst   of   affec- 
[186] 


THE  LAST  PATROL 


tionate  expression  has  been  finely  spontaneous. 
And  the  way  the  Colonel  takes  the  blow  only 
intensifies  the  popular  admiration  for  him.  Noth- 
ing is  in  it  of  theatricality.  The  parents  bow 
to  inexorable  fate  in  a  gracious  simplicity-  of  proud 
sorrow  or  sorrowful  pride.  The  Colonel  stands 
out,  in  the  affliction  that  has  befallen  him,  with 
a  finer  glory  than  ever.  He's  an  American — a 
man.  How  cheap  and  mean  the  aspersions  upon 
him  for  criticising  the  conduct  of  the  war !  Well 
it  became  General  Pershing  to  send  him  a  special 
cable  about  Quentin,  and  the  President  to  wire 
his  condolences.  The  Colonel  would  be  the  last 
man  to  say  his  boy,  as  such,  deserves  any  more 
honor  than  another  for  doing  his  duty.  Quentin 
lived  and  died  his  father's  creed  of  sacrificing 
service.  He  died  fighting  with  seven  enemy 
planes,  fell  in  the  enemy  lines — as  we  all  knew 
a  Roosevelt  would.  And  two  other  sons  are 
among  the  wounded.  Wliat  argument  such  lives 
and  such  a  death  lend  to  the  creed  of  the  true 
American !  The  boys  justify  their  father's  gos- 
pel and  career  before  all  the  world.  And  we 
[187] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


think  of  gallant,  modest  Quentin  as  typical  of 
all  Americans,  as  the  flower  and  fruit  of  the  patri- 
otism a  lax  generation  first  awoke  to  at  his  father's 
call,  before  war  had  come  and  death  begun  its 
revel.  He  stands  for  all  the  fallen  upon  whom 
no  public  glory  falls.  And  the  Colonel  and  Mrs. 
Roosevelt  seem  to  gather  and  give  off  our  pity 
to  fathers  and  mothers  all  unknown  who  have 
made  the  same  sacrifice.  They  take  the  blow 
standing.  They  say  it  is  well  their  dear  one  dies 
that  liberty  may  live,  that  force  and  fraud  may 
be  destroyed  in  world-affairs.  Colonel  Roose- 
velt has  been  given  much  by  the  people  in  a  score 
of  years,  but  now  they  give  him  their  tears,  their 
heart  of  heart;  they  are  drawn  into  oneness  mak- 
ing these  parents'  grief  and  pride  their  own.  In 
these  gloom-glory  hours  the  Roosevelts  serve 
their  country  and  their  kind  in  high  fashion.  And 
when  they  prayed,  thousands  who  never  prayed 
before  said  *Amen'  to  their  resignation  to  the 
Divine  Will.  Again  the  Roosevelts  bound  their 
people  in  oneness  of  spirit  about  the  altar  where 
bled  their  ewe-lamb.  And  Quentin  rests  in  Ger- 
[188] 


THE   LAST  PATROL 


many  by  his  people's  orders,  lives  in  death  'pos- 
sessed of  fame  that  never  shall  grow  old.'  " 

The  last  is  from  Le  Temps,  Paris: 

TEL   PERE,   TELS   FILS 

"La  mort  heroiqiie  du  capitaine  aviateur  Quen- 
tin  Roosevelt,  fils  de  I'ancicn  president  des  Etats- 
TJnis,  ajoute  une  noiivelle  page  de  gloire  et  de 
deuil  a  I'histoire  de  I'amitie  plus  que  seculaire 
qui  unit  I'Amerique  et  la  France,  dans  une  magni- 
fique  confraternite  d'armes,  pour  la  defense  du 
droit  eternel  et  des  libertes  du  monde. 

"  Le  president  Roosevelt,  dont  la  vie  publique 
et  i)riv6e  fut  toujours  un  admirable  exemple  de 
courage  liberalement  prodigue  au  service  des  plus 
nobles  causes,  est  un  des  hommes  d'Etat  qui  ont 
le  plus  eflScacement  contribue  au  rapprochement 
de  toutes  les  forces  morales  de  I'humanite  sur  le 
champ  de  bataille  oil  va  se  decider  I'avenir  de  la 
conscience  humaine.  Tout  de  suite  il  a  proteste 
contre  I'agression  qui  a  dechalne  la  guerre  et  qui, 
par  la  violation  de  la  neutralite  de  la  Belgique,  a 
[189] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


donne,  de  prime  abord,  la  mesure  de  rimmoralite 
de  I'agresseur. 

"  Si  Tancien  combattant  de  Cuba  n'est  pas  venu 
lui-m^me,  comme  il  le  desirait,  prendre  sa  place 
au  milieu  du  combat  et,  selon  sa  coutume,  au 
plus  fort  du  peril,  c'est  que  des  obstacles  plus 
puissants  que  sa  volonte  I'ont  retenu  aux  Etats- 
Unis  ou  d'ailleurs  il  ne  cesse  de  servir,  par  tous 
les  moyens  en  son  pouvoir,  la  cause  a  laquelle  il 
a  sacrifie  de  tout  coeur  ses  plus  chores  affections. 
II  nous  a  donne  ses  quatre  fils,  tous  engages  volon- 
taires,  tous  animes  de  la  plus  belle  emulation 
d'heroisme  et  inspires  des  hautes  pensees  dont 
la  tradition  paternelle  a  illustre  leur  foyer  natal. 
L'un  d'eux,  le  plus  jeune,  dej^  cite  k  I'ordre  pour 
une  serie  d'incomparables  prouesses,  vient  de 
tomber  au  champ  d'honneur.  Tin  autre  est 
blesse.  .  .  . 

"Puisse  la  grande  &me  du  president  Roosevelt 
trouver  dans  cette  epreuve  la  consolation  et  le 
reconfort  que  voudrait  lui  apporter  notre  amitie 
f raternelle !  II  sait,  il  a  souvent  dit,  mieux  que 
personne,  combien  la  beaute  du  sacrifice  libre- 
[190] 


THE  LAST  PATROL 


ment  consenti  est  feconde  en  bienfaits  pour  les 
generations  qui  viendront,  apres  nous,  recueillir 
les  fruits  de  nos  efforts  et  de  nos  souffrances.  Ceux 
qui  furcnt  les  heros  d'une  juste  cause  et  les  mar- 
tyrs d'un  ideal  ne  cessent  pas  d'etre  presents  a 
la  memoire  des  siecles  et  d'agir  par  une  incessante 
resurrection  qui  multiplie  a  I'infini  la  vertu  de 
leurs  actes.  Ainsi  vivra  parmi  nous  le  capitaine 
Quentin  Roosevelt,  aime  des  freres  d'armes  qui 
f  urent  les  temoins  de  ses  exploits,  honore  des  liom- 
mages  doux  et  tendres  de  sa  patrie  qui  le  pleure 
avec  fierte,  entoure  de  Tamour  de  la  France  qui 
a  recueilli  ses  reliques  sacrees  et  qui  veillera  pieu- 
sement  sur  sa  tombe  glorieuse. — G.  D." 

It  is  fitting  to  close  this  chapter  with  these 
four  personal  letters: 

Paris  July  23rd,  1918 
My  dear  Colonel  Roosevelt: — 

Perhaps  you  will  like  to  know  of  a  tribute  paid 
you  and  your  son  Quentin. 

Beside  my  other  work  here,  I  have  been  going 
to  the  Neuilly  hospital  every  morning  for  two 
[191] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


hours  to  distribute  American  newspapers  to  the 
wounded  just  arrived  from  the  front.  It  is  a  ter- 
rible and  touching  sight.  The  wards  are  already 
so  full  that  all  the  halls  are  lined  with  men  on 
stretchers  waiting  to  have  their  wounds  dressed. 
They  are  splendidly  brave  and  uncomplaining 
and  pathetically  eager  for  home  news.  Yester- 
day morning  I  had  given  away  all  my  New  York 
papers  and  had  only  the  Paris  edition  of  the  New 
York  Herald  left.  At  the  end  of  a  long  hall  I 
found  a  man  apparently  asleep.  His  head  was 
hanging  over  the  edge  of  the  stretcher  and  I  put 
a  pillow  under  it  to  ease  his  position.  When  he 
opened  his  eyes  I  asked  him  "  where  he  had  gotten 
it"  as  the  question  is  put  among  them.  "Oh !  it 
ain't  much  I  have,  lady — "  he  replied — "just 
through  me  hips  and  somewhere  in  the  back." 
Then  he  saw  the  paper  and  his  eyes  lit  up.  I 
gave  it  to  him  and  lighted  a  cigarette.  He  said 
"Gee!  but  that's  swell"  and  then  as  his  eyes  fol- 
lowed the  head  lines  of  the  paper — "Hell !  they 
got  the  President's  son  !"  There  was  no  question 
between  us  of  who  was  or  had  been  President,  no 
[192] 


THE  LAST  PATROL 


need  to  question  his  or  my  patriotism. — War,  I 
find,  strips  the  unessential  from  our  lives  and 
speech. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

Laura  Kelton  Owens. 

A  deeply  appreciated  personal  letter  came  from 

Baltimore: 

November  19th. 

My  dear  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Roosevelt: 

This  is  a  very  old  lady  writing  you,  but  I  feel 
sure  I  have  that  which  will  be  of  interest,  as  it  is 
an  incident  relating  to  the  dear  boy  who  sleeps 
on  Flanders  Field. 

We  were  in  a  camp  up  in  the  White  Mountain 
region,  had  just  been  celebrating  a  reported  vic- 
tory, and  as  a  veteran  of  the  sixties  it  fell  to  me  to 
tell  some  of  my  experiences,  as  a  northern  woman, 
in  the  south.  We  had  had  a  great  camp  celebra- 
tion and  just  finished  the  national  anthem,  when 
some  one  stepped  up  on  the  platform  and  told  us 
Quentin  Roosevelt  had  made  the  "supreme  sac- 
rifice." There  was  an  instant  hush,  as  though 
[193] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


every  heart  there  was  lifted  in  prayer,  when  out 
from  the  back  of  the  hall  stepped  a  young  woman 
bearing  a  big  flag,  singing  "My  Country  'Tis  of 
Thee."  All  joined  in  singing  it  through,  then 
silently  with  bowed  heads  passed  out  into  the 
night,  each  to  his  own  quarters. 

Words  cannot  convey  to  you  the  solemnity  of 
the  tribute  to  the  brave  young  soldier.  There 
were  some  of  us  who  recalled  him  as  a  little  laddie 
in  the  streets  of  Washington.  There  were  none 
who  failed  in  the  tribute,  or  forgot  the  sad  hearts 
at  Oyster  Bay. 

Most  loyally,  sympathetically  and  lovingly, 

Mrs.  L.  B.  Lair. 

l  A  letter  from  Captain  Philip  Roosevelt,  Opera- 
tions OflBcer  of  the  First  Pursuit  Group,  closed 
thus:  I 

".  .  .  and  manner  of  his  death,  I  would  rather 
have  died  as  Quentin  did  than  any  other  way. 
It  was  a  critical  day  in  the  war.  '  Quentin  was 
taking  part  in  a  military  mission  of  an  importance 
[194] 


THE  LAST  PATROL 


which  could  not  be  exaggerated,  protecting  a 
photographic  airpLine  fifteen  kilometers  in  the 
enemy  lines.  This  mission  was  successful  and  the 
photographs  established  beyond  a  doubt  that  the 
enemy  must  attack  within  twenty-four  hours  for 
one  could  see  the  seventy  sevens  being  placed  in 
position  in  open  fields  and  far  back  of  the  lines  the 
reinforcements  already  marching  up  to  fill  the 
holes  which  were  to  be  made  in  the  enemy  ranks. 
Quentin  lost  his  life,  and  it  makes  his  personal 
loss  no  less  hard  to  bear  to  know  that  he  died  at 
a  supreme  moment,  but  it  does  leave  behind  a 
tremendous  inspiration  for  the  rest  of  us." 

The  Reverend  John  B.  Stoudt  of  Northampton, 
Pa.,  wrote: 

"M}'  brother  Lieut.  Frederick  M.  Stoudt  served 
abroad  during  the  war  in  the  Motor  Transport 
Corps,  and  was  stationed  most  of  the  time  at 
Verneil,  France,  at  the  Reconstruction  Park  772, 
where  he  had  charge  of  a  department  in  the  Sheet 
Metal  and  AYelding  Shop.  Towards  the  end  of 
the  war  he  had  upwards  of  two  hundred  German 
prisoners  working  in  his  department.  He  tells  of 
f  195  1 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


a  young  German  officer,  quite  intelligent,  who 
delighted  in  discussing  the  war,  and  who  would 
ask  many  questions  about  America  and  our  enter- 
ing into  the  war. 

"This  young  officer  told  my  brother  the  follow- 
ing in  substance,  concerning  the  effect  upon  the 
Germans  at  the  falling  of  your  son  Quentin.  That 
when  he  fell  the  fact  was  heralded  throughout 
the  German  army,  and  throughout  the  Central 
powers.  That  photos  of  his  grave  and  his  wrecked 
plane  were  published  and  exhibited  profusedly  far 
and  wide.  That  the  German  authorities  believed 
it  to  be  good  propaganda,  with  which  to  hearten 
both  the  soldiers  and  the  people  at  home.  But 
that  it  had  the  opposite  effect  and  produced  as 
far  as  they  were  concerned  a  negative  effect  or 
result.  That  no  sooner  had  Quentin  fallen  but 
that  it  was  whispered  from  ear  to  ear,  from  trench 
to  trench.  That  in  it  one  could  see  how  in  free 
America  everybody  was  fighting.  That  though 
America  was  in  the  war  only  for  a  short  time,  the 
son  of  an  American  President,  engaged  in  one  of 
the  most  dangerous  lines  of  service,  was  lying 
[196] 


THE   LAST  PATROL 


back  of  the  German  lines,  while  their  country 
had  been  at  war  three  years  and  that  neither  the 
Kaiser,  nor  any  of  his  sons  were  ever  so  much  as 
scratched.  That  it  gave  the  soldiers  a  vision  of 
the  democracy  of  America,  and  helped  to  deepen 
the  feeling  that  they,  the  common  soldiers,  were 
only  cannon  fodder  for  the  Kaiser.  That  it  made 
real  to  them  the  difference  between  autocracy  and 
democracy,  of  which  they  had  heard  so  much. 
That  this  feeling  spread  like  wild  fire,  not  only 
throughout  the  army,  but  also  among  the  people 
at  home.  That  those  elements  in  Germany  that 
were  opposed  to  the  war  seized  upon  it  and  en- 
larged the  suggestion.  This  young  oflScer  de- 
clared that  in  the  judgment  of  many  this  was 
the  largest  single  factor  in  the  breaking  of  the 
morale  of  the  German  Army." 


[  197 


CHAPTER  IV 

OFFICIAL  JUDGMENT 

AMERICAN  EXPEDITIONARY   FORCES 

OFFICE   OF   THE   COMMANDEH-IN-CHIEF 

France,  July  27th,  1918. 
Colonel  Theodore  Roosevelt, 
Oyster  Bay,  Long  Island, 
New  York. 

My  dear  Colonel: 

Since  my  cablegram  of  July  17tli,  I  have  de- 
layed writing  you  in  the  hope  that  we  might  still 
learn  that,  through  some  good  fortune,  your  son 
Quentin  had  managed  to  land  safely  inside  the 
German  lines.  Now  the  telegram  from  the  In- 
ternational Red  Cross  at  Berne,  stating  that  the 
German  Red  Cross  confirms  the  newspaper  re- 
ports of  his  death,  has  taken  even  this  hope  away. 
Quentin  died  as  he  had  lived  and  served,  nobly 
[198] 


OFFICIAL  JUDGMENT 


and  unselfishly;  in  the  full  strength  and  vigor 
of  his  youth,  fighting  the  enemy  in  clean  combat. 
You  may  well  be  proud  of  your  gift  to  the  nation 
in  his  supreme  sacrifice. 

I  realize  that  time  alone  can  heal  the  wound, 
yet  I  know  that  at  such  a  time  the  stumbling 
words  of  understanding  from  one's  friends  help, 
and  I  want  to  express  to  you  and  to  Quentin's 
mother  my  deepest  sympathy  and  friendship. 
Perhaps  I  can  come  as  near  to  realizing  whs.t 
such  a  loss  means  as  anyone. 

Enclosed  is  a  copy  of  his  official  record  in  the 
Air   Service.     The  brevity   and   curtness   of   the 
official  words  paint  clearly  the  picture  of  his  ser- 
vice, which  was  an  honor  to  all  of  us.  \ 
Believe  me. 


Sincerely  yours, 

John  J.  Perbhinq. 


[199] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


GENERAL  HEADQUARTERS 

AMERICAN   EXPEDITIONARY   FORCES 

July  26,  1918. 

MEMORANDUM   FOR:     The   Adjutant    Gen- 
eral, A.  E.  F. 

SUBJECT:    Official    Record    of    1st    Lieutenant 
Quentin  Roosevelt,  Air  Service. 

1.  Lieutenant  Quentin  Roosevelt  landed  Liver- 
pool August  Sth  1917,  assigned  Issoudun  August 
17tli,  assigned  School  Aerial  Gunnery  Cazaux 
March  1st  1918,  to  duty  Officer  in  charge  Train- 
ing Field  seven  Issoudun  March  24th,  to  duty 
Orly  May  31st  Chartres  June  11th  Toul  June 
13th  Colombey-les-Belles  June  21st,  assigned  to 
95th  Aero  Squadron  Toul  June  24th,  duty  Char- 
tres June  25th  Toul  July  6th  Touquin  July  13th, 
reported  missing  July  17th,  confirmation  by  Ger- 
man Red  Cross  of  death  in  aerial  combat  July 
22nd.  Confirmed  by  International  Red  Cross 
from  Berne,  Switzerland,  July  24,  1918  as  fol- 
lows: 

[200] 


OFFICIAL  JUDGMENT 


"International  Red  Cross  wires  that  German 
Red  Cross  confirms  newspaper  reports  Quentin 
Roosevelt's  death  in  aerial  combat  further  details 
lacking — King  Godson." 

2.  Lt.  Quentin  Roosevelt  during  his  whole 
career  in  the  Air  Service  both  as  a  cadet  and  as 
a  flaying  officer  was  a  model  of  the  best  type  of 
young  American  manhood.  He  was  most  cour- 
teous in  his  conduct,  clean  in  his  private  life  and 
devoted  in  his  duty.  As  an  Officer  he  had  the 
best  interests  of  the  service  always  at  heart,  per- 
formed his  duty  no  matter  what  it  was,  whether 
agreeable  or  not,  always  to  the  best  of  his  ability 
and  without  question  or  remark. 

S.  After  completion  of  his  training  as  a  pilot 
he  was  selected  on  account  of  his  efficiency  as 
an  instructor  and  had  charge  of  one  of  the  most 
important  flying  instruction  fields.  His  great 
desire  and  hope  was  to  be  allowed  to  get  to  the 
front.  This  opportunity  was  not  practicable 
for  a  comparatively  long  time  on  account  of 
his  expert  services  being  more  needed  as  an  in- 
structor. 

[201] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


4.  When  the  order  assigning  him  to  duty  with 
a  squadron  finally  came  on  June  24th  he  lost  no 
time  in  reporting  and  arrived  just  in  time  to  take 
part  in  the  last  great  enemy  offensive  where  the 
combat  work  by  his  squadron  was  most  stren- 
uous and  aided  materially  in  the  success  of  the 
battle. 

5.  Lieutenant  Roosevelt  had  already  brought 
down  one  enemy  plane  and  had  aided  the  squad- 
ron in  a  number  of  fights  against  large  enemy  air 
formations  where  the  American  units  dispersed 
the  enemy  and  brought  down  a  number  of  their 
aircraft.  His  work  during  these  combats  was 
exceptionally  good,  his  endeavor  being  the  suc- 
cess of  the  squadron  rather  than  to  get  individual 
airplanes  to  his  personnel  credit. 

6.  His  loss  was  deeply  felt  by  his  flying  com- 
rades in  the  squadron  as  well  as  by  all  oflScers 
and  soldiers  with  whom  he  had  ever  come  into 
contact. 


R,  0.  Van  Horn, 

Colonel,  Air  Service, 
Asst.  Chief  of  Air  Service. 

[202] 


OFFICIAL  JUDGMENT 


AMERICAN  EXPEDITIONARY   FORCES 

OFnCE   OF   THE   COMMANDER-rN-CHIEF'. 

France,  August  23rd,  1018. 
Colonel  Theodore  Roosevelt, 
Oyster  Bay,  L.  I. 
New  York. 
My  dear  Colonel  Roosevelt: 

Believing  that  you  and  Mrs.  Roosevelt  would 
want  complete  information  as  to  where  your  son 
rests,  I  requested  that  there  be  prepared  an  official 
report,  accompanied  by  photographs.  These  have 
just  reached  me  and  I  am  enclosing  them  to  you. 

The  manner  in  which  Qucntin's  comrades  have 
marked  and  sheltered  his  grave  shows  how  much 
they  loved  him,  and  this  must  offer  you  and  Mrs. 
Roosevelt  some  consolation  in  the  great  sacrifice 
you  have  made. 

Again  expressing  my  regret  over  the  loss  of 
this  splendid  young  soldier,  and  my  sympathy 
with  you,  Mrs.  Roosevelt  and  the  family,  I  am, 
my  dear  Colonel  Roosevelt, 

Sincerely  yours, 

John  J.  Pershing. 
[203] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


Washington,  le  Sept.  21, 1918. 

AMBASSADE 

De  La  Republique  Frangaise 

Aux  Etats-Unis. 

My  dear  Colonel: 

All  those  among  us,  In  whatever  walk  of  life, 
who  have  lost  a  son  in  the  present  war,  receive 
as  a  memorial  to  be  preserved  in  the  family,  an 
engraved  statement,  testifying  to  the  fact  that 
their  child  gave  his  life  for  the  great  cause. 

The  President  of  the  French  Republic  hopes 
you  will  permit  him  to  consider  that  a  similar 
loss  has  brought  you  even  nearer  to  our  hearts 
than  ever  before,  and  he  has  instructed  me  to 
transmit  to  you  and  to  Mrs.  Roosevelt  the  same 
token  as  is  received  by  the  bereft  fathers  and 
mothers  of  France. 

In  accordance  with  the  directions  of  President 
Poincare,  I  forward  you  at  the  same  time  as  this 
note,  a  case  containing  that  document,  and  I  en- 
close herewith  a  letter  to  you  from  President 
Poincare. 

[204] 


OFFICIAL  JUDGMENT 


As  for  me,  I  need  not  say  what  I  feel  in  fulfilling 
this  duty;  I  knew  Quentin  as  a  child,  and  one 
could  easily  discover  in  the  child  the  man  that 
he  would  be.  Millions  of  long  lives  will  have 
been  forgotten  when  his  memory  will  still  be  fresh 
among  us  as  in  his  own  country. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  Colonel, 

Most  sincerely  yours, 

JUSSERAND. 

Prcsidence 

de  la 

Republique 

Paris  3rd  Sept.  1918. 

My  dear  President  Roosevelt: 

Do  you  kindly  allow  me  to  send  you,  in  memory 
of  your  gallant  son  Quentin,  the  same  diploma 
as  to  the  parents  of  the  French  officers  and  sol- 
diers who  died  for  freedom  ?  I  charge  our  friend, 
Mr.  Jusserand,  to  deliver  you,  with  this  letter, 
that  token  of  admiration. 

Believe  me,  sincerely  yours, 

R.   POINCARE. 


[205] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


Q.  G.  A.,  le  5  Septembre  1018 

le  General  DEGOUTTE 
Commandant  la  VI°  Armee  Frangaise 
a  Monsieur  le  President  ROOSEVELT 

Monsieur  le  President, 

Sur  le  territoire  reconquis  par  la  VI**  Arm6e 
entre  la  Marne  et  I'Aisne,  avec  I'aide  des  vaillantes 
troupes  des  Etats-TJnis,  nous  avons  voulu  donner 
aux  braves,  morts  glorieusement  pour  la  defense 
des  Droits  de  rHumanit6,  une  sepulture  qui  per- 
mettra  aux  families  qui  les  pleurent  de  reconnaltre 
le  lieu  de  leur  dernier  repos,  et  a  ceux  qui  recueil- 
leront  le  fruit  de  leur  heroisme,  de  venir,  dans  les 
ann^es  qui  suivront  la  paix  victorieuse,  leur  ap- 
porter  le  tribut  de  leur  reconnaissance  profonde- 
ment  emue. 

Parmi  les  plus  glorieuses  tombes,  o^  se  feront 
ces  pieux  pelerinages,  sera  celle  de  votre  fils,  le 
Lieutenant  Aviateur  Quentin  Roosevelt,  herol- 
quement  frappe  en  plein  vol,  en  effectuant  une 
patrouille  de  protection  au-dessus  de  la  For^t 
de  Ris,  le  14  Juillet,  le  jour  m^me  ou  la  France 
[  206  ] 


OFFICIAL  JUDGMENT 


celebrait  Tanniversaire  de  la  conquete  de  ses 
Libert  OS. 

Elle  so  troiive  pvbs  de  la  Ferme  de  Reddy,  de- 
pendant de  la  Commune  de  Coulonges — Je  vous 
envoie  la  photographie  qui  en  a  ete  prise. 

J'ai  tenu  k  y  deposer  personnellement  una 
couronne  pour  rendre  hommage  a  la  memoire  du 
jeune  h6ros. 

En  vous  adressant  ce  pieux  souvenir,  permettez- 
moi,  Monsieur  le  President,  de  vous  exprimer  de 
tout  coeur  la  part  que  je  prends  au  deuil  cruel  qui 
vous  frappe. 

Le   Lieutenant   Quentin   Roosevelt   est   heroi- 

quement  torabe  en  terre  frangaise  pour  le  triomphe 

de  I'idcal  commun  de  nos  deux  Pays,  dont  la  vieille 

amitie  devient  de  jour  en  jour  plus  etroite  en  se 

scellant  du  sang  si  noblement  verse,  c6te  k  cote, 

sur  les  champs  de  bataille.  t-w 

^  Deqoutte. 

Le  GforfjRAL  PfiTAIN 

Monsieur  le  President,  ^^  •'""•^*  '^^^ 

J'apprends  la  mort  glorieuse  de  votre  fils,  le 
capitaine  aviateur  Roosevelt,  tomb6  au  front  de 
[207] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


France  en  combattant   pour   la  cause   de  la  li- 
berie. 

Si  votre  douleur  peut  avoir  quelque  adoucisse- 
ment,  vous  le  trouverez  certainement  dans  ce  fait 
que  votre  fils  a  trouve  une  mort  heroique  en  com- 
battant sous  les  plis  du  drapeau  Americain  que  la 
France  entiere  salue  comme  le  symbole  de  la 
victoire  certaine. 

Veuillez  agreer,  Monsieur  le  President,  avec 
les  sinceres  et  vives  condoleances  de  TArmee 
Frangaise,  I'assurance  de  toute  ma  sympathie. 

Ch.  Petain. 

SG 

GRAND  QUARTIER  GENERAL 

Des 

ARMEES  FRANCAISES  DE  L'EST 


ETAT-MAJOR 


Bureau  Du  Personnel 
(Decorations) 


ORDRE  No  12,027  "D."     (EXTRAIT) 

Apres  approbation  du  General  Commandant  en 
Chef  les  Forces  expeditionnaires  Americaines  en 
[208] 


OFFICIAL  JUDGMENT 


France,  le  Marechal  de  France,  Commandant  en 
Chef  les  Armces  Frangaises  de  I'Est,  cite  a  TOrdrc 
de  UArmee. 

Lieutenant  Pilote  Quentin  Roosevelt,  a  I'Esca- 
diille  Americaine  95: 

"Excellent  pilote  de  chasse,  possedant  les  plus 
belles  qualites  de  courage  et  de  devoueraent,  Le 
10  Juillet  1918,  apres  un  combat  contre  5  avions 
ennemis,  a  abattu  un  de  ses  adversaires.  A  ete 
tue-glorieusement  au  cours  d'un  combat  aerien. 
le  14  Juillet  1918." 

Au  Quartier  General,  le  29  Novembre  1918 
Le  Marechal  De  France, 
Commandant  en  Chef  les  Armees  Frangaises  de  L'Est, 

Pour  Exteait  Conforme: 
Le  Lieutenant-Colonel, 

Chef  du  Bureau  du  Personnel 

(Signature  illegible)  Petain. 

From  the  Naval  Institute  of  July,  1919: 
"The  only   French   war  craft   named   after  a 
citizen  other  than  of  France,  is  the  torpedo-boat 
[209] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


destroyer  Quentin  Roosevelt,  named  recently  as  a 
mark  of  respect  to  the  late  ex-president  and  his 
son.  The  destroyer  is  the  former  Russian  Buiki, 
which  has  been  taken  over  by  French  naval  au- 
thorities and  renamed.  She  was  rechristened  last 
September.  The  Quentin  Roosevelt  was  turned 
over  by  the  Russians  to  the  French  because  their 
navy  was  at  that  time  short  of  men  and  they  were 
unable  to  man  her." — Institute. 


(SIOJ 


CHAPTER  V 

•"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

HDQRS.  FIRST  PURSUIT  GROUP 

AIB  BBBVICE — AMERICAN   E.   P. 

December  21,  1918. 

Dear  Colonel  Roosevelt: 

On  going  through  our  files  preparatory  to  de- 
mobilization of  the  First  Pursuit  Group  Head- 
quarters, the  enclosure  (a  report  locating  Quen- 
tin's  grave)  was  discovered,  having  been  caught 
with  some  other  papers  and  filed  away  by  mis- 
take. As  the  information  requested  was  later 
given  officially  in  another  letter,  it  is  not  neces- 
sary for  us  to  forward  the  enclosed  indorsement, 
and  I  thought  that  perhaps  you  might  be  in- 
terested in  having  it,  as  it  is  signed  by  one  of 
Quentin's  great  friends,  Lieut.  Hamilton  Coolidge, 
who,  as  you  know,  was  subsequently  killed  in 
the  Verdun  Sector  on  October  27th. 

It  is  needless  for  me  to  say  that  Quentin's  loss 
[211] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


was  mourned  by  everybody  in  the  Group.  He 
was  one  of  the  most  popular  officers  in  the  organi- 
zation, being  Hked  by  everyone,  officers  and  men. 
I  know  of  no  one  who  really  enjoyed  life  more 
than  he  did.  He  always  entered  into  the  spirit 
of  everything,  whether  it  was  work  or  pleasure. 
The  day  he  was  killed,  he  was  in  charge  of  an 
entertainment  we  were  giving  to  assist  in  cele- 
brating the  French  National  Holiday,  July  14th, 
and  at  the  rehearsal  given  the  night  before,  was 
the  life  of  the  party,  inspiring  everybody  with 
his  enthusiasm.  That  night  he  came  to  my  room, 
and  I  shall  always  remember  his  sitting  on  my 
bed  and  describing  to  me  in  his  inimitable  manner, 
the  programme  that  he  had  laid  out. 

He  and  Captain  Coolidge  reported  to  the  First 
Pursuit  Group  when  we  were  in  the  Toul  Sector, 
and  both  explained  that  they  had  been  boyhood 
friends  for  the  past  eight  years  and  wished  to 
get  into  the  same  Squadron.  There  was  a  vacancy 
in  two  Squadrons  so  the  Commanding  Officer 
assigned  Quentin  to  the  95th  and  Lt.  Coolidge, 
as  he  was  then,  to  the  94th.  Both  became  Flight 
[212  1 


"THE  JUDGIVIENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

Commanders  in  their  respective  Squadrons.  Capt. 
Coolidge  felt  his  loss  very  deeply,  and  often  spoke 
to  me  about  him.  The  day  Capt.  Coolidge  was 
killed,  October  27th,  he  stopped  in  my  office  just 
as  he  was  leaving  on  his  last  patrol,  and  spoke 
then  of  Quentin.  I  recall  now  his  saying  that  he 
wished  Quentin  could  have  survived  to  have  been 
with  him  at  St  Mihiel-Verdun  offensive,  in  which 
this  Group  had  been  so  successful.  Coolidge,  as 
you  know,  had  become  an  Ace,  and  had  eight 
official  enemy  airplanes  to  his  credit.  Killed,  al- 
most under  the  shadow  of  the  Armistice  as  it 
were,  his  loss  was  deeply  felt  by  everyone.  , 
Very  sincerely  yours, 

Henry  L.  Lyster 
CaptaiHy  Air  Service  U.  S.  A. 

Dear  Mrs.  Roosevelt:  '^^'^  ^^'  ^^^^ 

It  seems  almost  incomprehensible  that  Quen- 
tin is  really  gone.  At  every  turn  something  re- 
minds me  of  him.  This  afternoon  I  walked  in  a 
quiet  wood  where  Q.  and  I  walked  and  chatted 
together  only  a  few  days  before  his  death.  I 
[213] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


could  almost  hear  his  voice  but  still  there  is  an 
awful  empty  feeling  inside.  Quent  was  such  a 
complete  person — not  a  mere  friend  who  is  in- 
teresting in  some  particular  way — ^he  was  in- 
teresting and  lovable  in  every  way.  No  one  I 
ever  knew  had  so  many  friends  from  so  many 
different  types  and  conditions  of  people. 

I  am  trying  to  write  a  little  sketch  of  Quentin 
since  his  coming  to  Prance,  in  the  hope  that  I 
may  be  able  to  tell  you  some  things  about  him 
which  you  would  never  have  learned  from  his 
letters.  This  will  not  be  finished  for  a  while  yet, 
as  it  is  necessary  to  write  in  between  times  and 
in  the  midst  of  distractions.  Also,  my  ability 
to  express  what  I  feel  makes  it  hopelessly  inade- 
quate; still  I  shall  do  my  best,  as  I  do  so  want 
you  to  know  about  some  of  the  things  that  boy 
has  done  here. 

Quentin's  daring  has  left  a  profound  impression 
on  all  of  us.  I  remember  once  at  Issoudun,  when 
after  making  a  bad  landing  and  narrowly  missing 
a  ditch,  he  told  me  that  he  had  a  "horrible  sink- 
ing feeling,"  but  when  it  came  to  facing  live  Boches 
[214] 


"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  TEERS" 

in  superior  number  far  inside  their  lines,  and 
each  armed  with  two  deadly  machine  guns,  the 
"sinking  feeling"  did  not  figure  at  all.  Too  many 
pilots  find  a  "miss  firing  motor"  or  "leaking  water 
connection"  an  excuse  for  avoiding  proximity 
to  Boche  planes.  Quentin,  however,  found  the 
presence  of  enemy  planes  an  excuse  for  temporarily 
overlooking  the  inferiority  of  his  own  apparatus. 
His  aggressive  spirit  has  made  a  deep  impression 
throughout  our  Air  Service,  and  I  find  in  Quen- 
tin's  death,  I  won't  say  a  vindication  of  IVIr.  Roose- 
velt's attitude  towards  our  War  programme,  but 
a  factor  which  gives  his  words  redoubled  force. 
One  heard  occasionally,  about  a  year  ago,  these 
words,  "Yes,  the  Roosevelt  boys  are  all  going 
across,  but  you  can  be  sure  they'll  be  given  staff 
jobs."  Strangely  enough  several  of  the  people 
who  made  similar  remarks  have  found  that  they 
are  temperamentally  better  suited  to  be  instruc- 
tors at  the  Aviation  Schools,  rather  than  mere 
pilots  at  the  front. 

I  am  enclosing  a  letter  from  one  of  Quentin's 
former  mechanics.     It  arrived  a  few  days  after 
[215] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


his  death  and  is  typical  of  the  way  every  one  of 
those  boys  felt  toward  him. 

I  feel  that  I  share  with  you  and  Mr.  Roose- 
velt the  thrill  of  pride  that  was  given  us  by  the 
circumstances  of  Quentin's  splendid  victory,  and 
of  his  even  more  splendid  death,  and  I  ask  you 
to  accept  my  deepest  sympathy  at  so  sacred  a 

Affectionately  yours, 

Hamilton  Coolidge. 

HAMILTON   COOLIDGE's   SKETCH 

On  the  trip  across  Quentin  busied  himself  most 
of  the  time  in  becoming  better  acquainted  with 
the  oflScers  of  his  detachment,  many  of  whom  he 
previously  knew  but  slightly.  He  was  thoroughly 
enthusiastic  about  the  job  ahead;  his  enthusiasm 
was  fundamental,  and  seemed  to  me  distinct  from 
that  of  many  of  his  comrades  who  apparently 
acquired  theirs  in  the  much  talking  and  specula- 
tion that  accompanied  the  after  dinner  smoke. 
Even  his  worst  spells  of  homesickness  did  not 
dent  it,  though  his  natural  cheerfulness  changed 
to  black  gloom  on  that  tedious  trip. 
[  216  ] 


"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

Often  we  walked  together  in  the  evenings  on 
the  unlightod  decks,  and  always  the  conversation 
developed  into  reminiscences  of  the  events  so 
fresh  in  our  niinds.  .  .  .  Never  was  he  sorry  for 
himself.  Almost  never  did  he  speak  of  the  dan- 
gers ahead  of  him,  and  then  only  in  a  most  casual 
way.  Once  in  a  great  while  he  wondered  "Shall 
I  ever  come  back?"  but  far  more  often  it  was  "I 
wonder  how  long  it  will  be  before  we  come  back." 
His  attitude  seemed  to  be  fatalistic.  He  went  on 
the  principle  that  he  was  on  an  adventure  in 
which  a  definite  object  was  to  be  obtained.  When 
that  object  was  obtained  he  was  coming  back.  If 
some  accident  befel  him  in  the  course  of  it,  that 
was  something  he  could  not  foresee — then  why 
worry?  Quentin  did  not  begrudge  the  fact  that 
war  was  going  to  demand  his  best  efforts,  that  it 
would  place  him  in  great  personal  danger.  The 
only  thing  he  begrudged  was  the  inordinate 
amount  of  precious  time  that  it  would  occupy.  .  .  . 

Upon  arriving  in  France  on  August  14th,  Quen- 
tin was  sent  directly  to  Issoudun  to  take  charge 
of  transportation,  and  for  a  while  supplies  also. 
[217] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


The  camp  then  consisted  of  little  more  than  a 
half  dozen  army  tents,  and  Cord  Meyer  was 
about  the  only  one  of  his  old  friends  then  with 
him.  All  I  knew  of  Quentin  during  the  next  two 
months  came  from  his  comrades  who  occasionally 
had  business  in  Paris.  Somehow  Transportation 
and  supplies  didn't  seem  to  be  within  the  field  of 
Quentin's  previous  experiences,  but  everyone  spoke 
of  how  well  he  was  doing.  He  successfully  con- 
ducted several  trench  trains  of  suppKes  from  a 
sea-port  town  and  some  of  the  supplies  he  obtained 
occasioned  considerable  comment  because  the 
other  men  had  been  unsuccessful  in  obtaining 
them.  I  later  learned  that  Quentin  never  needed 
previous  experience  to  handle  a  job  successfully. 
His  versatility  was  unlimited.  Probably  no  officer 
in  the  air  service  has  had  more  different  jobs  than 
Quentin  in  the  same  length  of  time,  and  made  a 
real  success  of  each»  Yet  all  the  time  he  was 
doing  these  jobs,  not  because  he  liked  them  but 
because  he  saw  that  they  were  inevitable  before 
flying  could  really  begin.  Flying  was  what  he 
cared  about.,  One  day  a  Frenchman  landed  at 
[218] 


"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS   PEERS" 

the  field  in  a  Caudion.  After  lunch  Quentin  was 
looking  over  the  machine.  He  had  never  driven 
a  Caudion  before,  in  fact  for  over  two  months  he 
had  not  flown  at  all.  Neither  of  those  facts  dis- 
turbed him  in  the  least;  he  wanted  to  fly.  Two 
mechanics  cranked  the  engine  and  a  minute  later 
Quentin  was  circling  the  field  in  a  machine  new  to 
him  and  controlled  in  a  different  manner  than 
any  plane  he  had  hitherto  been  in ! 

It  was  during  this  period  that  Quentin  and 
Cord  Meyer  became  such  good  friends.  They 
frequently  took  motor  cycle  trips  together.  Both 
had  some  bad  smashes,  but  that  seemed  only  the 
rather  amusing  accompaniment  of  their  good 
times  together.  It  was  then,  too,  that  they  be- 
came acquainted  with  the  delightful  Normant 
family  at  Romorantin. 

On  October  15th,  when  the  school  opened  a 
new  administration  took  hold.  From  then  on 
the  plan  of  things  and  even  the  personnel,  was 
constantly  changing  for  a  while.  Quentin  always 
had  some  job  on  his  hands.  One  week  he  went 
away  in  charge  of  a  trucking  detail.  The  next 
[219  J 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


saw  him  in  command  of  a  Squadron.  Often  he 
was  called  to  Paris  on  questions  of  accountabilities 
for  suppUes.  His  duties  were  so  many  and  varied 
that  for  a  while  he  had  little  chance  to  fly.  It 
really  seemed  as  if  his  superiors  used  him  for  any 
hard  job  which  required  tactful  handling.  I  think 
of  one  case  in  particular  in  this  connection.  The 
cadets  at  the  school  in  its  early  days  had  under- 
gone some  very  trying  disappointments  in  regard 
to  their  commissions  and  their  pay;  they  were  a 
demoralized  crowd  of  boys.  Quentin  was  put  in 
charge  of  them.  For  several  weeks  he  devoted 
his  entire  time  to  straightening  out  their  difficul- 
ties. He  had  no  chance  to  fly  with  this  work  on 
his  shoulders  and  the  strain  began  to  tell.  Com- 
ing back  from  a  cross  country  trip  I  found  him 
sick  and  strongly  urged  him  to  go  to  bed.  He 
said  that  he  couldn't  leave  his  work  and  went 
right  ahead.  That  is  when  he  really  became  sick. 
There  were  several  of  us  down  with  grippe  at  the 
same  time,  while  Quentin  had  pneumonia.  Under 
Miss  Givenwilson's  personal  care  most  of  us  had 
soon  recovered,  but  Quentin's  sickness  had  reached 
[220] 


"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

ii  sttige  where  nothing  but  a  complete  rest  and 
change  could  do  him  good.  It  was  to  Bordeaux 
that  he  went,  if  I  remember  correctly.  At  any 
rate  he  stayed  there  but  two  days,  after  which  he 
returned  to  Paris.  He  said  it  was  because  during 
those  two  days  it  had  snowed  and  if  there  was 
going  to  be  bad  weather  in  Southern  France  he 
might  as  well  stay  in  Paris.  I  know,  however, 
that  what  really  brought  him  back  to  Paris  was 
the  persistent  devotion  to  family  which  was  always 
so  marked  in  him. 

Field  Seven  is  where  formation  flying  is  taught 
at  Issoudun.  It  is  where  Quentin  really  made  his 
mark  at  the  School.  He  was  sent  there  after  rush- 
ing through  his  acrobatic  flying  upon  returning 
from  Paris,  to  be  the  Officer  in  charge  of  flying. 
It  was  the  one  job  he  had  a  chance  to  hold  long 
enough  to  organize  thoroughly.  While  anxious  to 
go  to  the  front  Quentin  realized  the  futility  of  that 
desire  for  some  time  to  come  and  therefore  settled 
down  to  make  the  best  he  could  out  of  his  work 
there.  He  was  happy  to  be  there  with  Cord 
Meyer  for  a  while,  before  Cord  left.  In  thinking 
[221] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


over  those  days  I  always  think  of  Quentin  at 
Field  Seven.  That  is  when  I  knew  him  best.  It 
is  when  he  had  his  most  permanent  job  and  when 
he  did  his  best  work.  It  is  when  he  won  the 
devotion  of  all  the  mechanics  in  a  way  that  gave 
a  fine  lesson  to  the  "over  military"  type  of  officer 
who  tries  to  impress  his  authority  by  an  abrupt- 
ness of  manner  and  speech  assumed  for  the  occa- 
sion. 

Every  morning  prompt  at  seven  o*clock  a 
gaudily  painted  plane  could  be  seen  circling  the 
camp,  sometimes  ducking  in  and  out  of  low  hang- 
ing clouds,  at  others  diving,  twisting  and  rolling 
in  an  extravagant  demonstration  of  nice  handling. 
It  was  Quentin  in  his  beloved  "Dock  Yack"  plane 
trying  out  the  weather  before  sending  his  pupils 
off  on  patrol.  In  addition  to  the  star  cockades 
and  the  shield  and  wing  insignia  upon  the  top 
wing,  Quentin  had  employed  a  jack-of-all-trades 
mechanic  to  paint  upon  both  sides  of  the  fuselage 
a  representation  of  "Doc  Yack"  in  his  auto,  as 
depicted  in  the  Goldberg  cartoons.  Quentin  was 
extremely  pleased  with  this  plane,  both  as  to 
appearance  and  flying  qualities. 
[  222  ] 


"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

All  the  time  during  flying  hours  he  was  out 
upon  the  field  wearing  a  grimy  long  leather  coat 
and  the  traditional  silk  stocking  "porte  bonheur" 
as  his  only  head  gear.  He  seemed  to  be  always 
moving  about.  Patrols  took  off  and  returned 
with  more  and  more  precision  as  time  went  on. 
Planes  were  ready  on  time;  they  were  lined  care- 
fully to  white  chalk  lines,  and  the  accumulated 
oil  and  dust  seemed  to  disappear  from  their  sides 
and  undercarriages.  Often  I  happened  to  be 
near  when  Quentin  was  criticizing  a  student  flyer. 
"What  were  you  doing  a  quarter  of  a  mile  behind 
the  formation  when  it  passed  over  Vatan?",  or 
perhaps  "Yes  Williams  I  realize  that  the  Cha- 
teauroux  hospital  possesses  a  peculiar  fascination 
for  you  (the  nurses)  but  you  know  that  acrobatics 
two  hundred  feet  from  the  ground  is  poor  busi- 
ness, and  incidentally  weren't  you  supposed  to  be 
in  the  formation  a  thousand  metres  above  ?  "  In- 
variably  a  puzzled,  usually  sheepish  expression 
appeared  on  the  face  of  the  victim  as  he  first  won- 
dered how  his  instructor  knew  of  all  these  things, 
and  then  realized  that  he  was  not  the  type  of  in- 
structor who  watches  proceedings  from  a  chair  on 
1223] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


the  ground.  Had  any  of  the  men  on  patrol  looked 
carefully  above  at  times  they  might  have  seen  a 
small  Nieuport  circling  inquisitively  overhead. 
Indeed  the  ubiquitousness  of  their  instructor  al- 
ways puzzled  the  students,  for  was  he  not  on  the 
ground  when  they  left  and  then  also  when  they 
returned,  and  yet  was  there  any  incident  of  their 
flight  around  the  country  which  he  did  not  know 
about?  An  instructor  who  flew  himself,  who  fre- 
quently took  a  student's  place  in  formation,  must 
be  a  man  who  took  an  interest  in  his  work,  they 
figured — and  the  quality  of  the  flying  and  hence 
the  reputation  of  the  field  gradually  but  surely 
adjusted  itself  accordingly. 

At  Field  Seven  there  was  a  supply  Officer  whose 
duty  it  was  to'  secure  the  many  spare  parts  that 
are  essential  in  the  maintenance  of  airplanes. 
There  was  a  construction  officer  who  supervised 
the  building  of  barracks,  the  driving  of  wells, 
the  installation  of  electric  light  plants  and  machine 
tools  in  the  shop.  Sometimes  in  spite  of  all  their 
efforts  the  spare  parts  were  unavailable,  the  build- 
ing material  could  not  be  had  for  love  or  money. 
[224] 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 


"Requisitions  had  been  in  for  two  weeks,  but 
nothing  had  happened."  At  supper  someone 
would  ask  "Where  is  Quentin?"  and  another 
would  answer  "Oh  he  has  gone  over  to  the  main 
camp  on  his  motorcycle,"  and  the  subject  would 
be  dismissed.  Next  morning,  however,  the  needed 
parts  or  material  would  suddenly  and  mysteriously 
appear  upon  a  truck.  Once  in  particular  I  re- 
member when  a  long  awaited  dynamo  arrived  at 
the  camp.  The  old  one  had  become  inadequate 
as  the  demands  upon  it  increased.  The  new  one 
after  being  carefully  cleaned  and  assembled  by 
willing  mechanics  stood  ready  to  supply  the  much 
needed  current  as  soon  as  a  suitable  foundation 
should  be  built  for  it  to  rest  upon.  "But  there's 
not  a  bit  of  cement  in  the  supply  room;  we'll 
have  to  wait  until  they  send  it  from  Paris,"  com- 
plained the  construction  officer.  That  night  it 
was  dark  and  drizzly  so  nobody  noticed  when 
Quentin  disappeared  about  nine  o'clock  with 
two  of  his  men  in  a  truck.  About  an  hour  later 
the  truck  returned  with  twenty  bags  of  cement 
inside.  "  Where  did  you  get  the  cement  ?  "  some- 
[225] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


one  asked.  "Stole  it,"  was  Quen tin's  laconic 
reply.  And  let  it  be  remembered  that  Quentin's 
oflScial  title  was  "Officer  in  charge  of  Flying  at 
Field  Seven." 

Then  there  were  many  rainy  days  when  we 
couldn't  work.  We  used  the  room  in  which  Quen- 
tin,  the  Doctor  and  the  Captain  (C.  0.  of  the  field) 
lived  as  a  sitting  room;  usually  the  four  of  us 
but  occasionally  several  more  would  wander  in. 
The  Captain  was  a  Southerner  and  enjoyed  crap 
games — so  dice  it  was.  We  sat  on  Quentin's 
bed  rolling  the  dice  and  exchanging  francs.  Pri- 
vately we  all  took  our  cue  from  the  Captain — but 
after  about  two  games  you  couldn't  tell  whether 
it  was  he  or  Quentin  who  was  the  veteran  "crap- 
shooter."  He  put  his  whole  heart  into  every- 
thing he  did  whether  it  was  rolling  dice  or  develop- 
ing pilots  for  war.  When  he  did  not  play  in  the 
current  game  he  was  sitting  in  the  box  wood  arm 
chair  reading  or  writing  letters  with  a  concen- 
tration that  was  always  a  source  of  wonder  to 
me.  No  matter  how  much  noise  the  phonograph 
and  the  gamblers  made  he  never  "  batted  an  eye." 
[226] 


"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

It  seemed  to  make  not  the  slightest  difference  to 
him.  He  always  managed  to  keep  up  his  read- 
ing, but  I  could  never  discover  whether  or  not 
he  had  a  system  about  it.  One  minute  I  would 
find  him  reading  the  "Rhymes  of  Ironquill,"  or 
Dunsany — the  next  it  would  be  Boswell's  Life 
of  Johnson.  He  nearly  always  carried  a  book 
in  his  pocket,  which  reminds  me  of  Archie  at 
Groton.  I  think  Quentin  always  kept  several 
books  going  at  the  same  time  and  read  whichever 
one  happened  to  be  handy.  He  seemed  to  like 
queer  and  obscm'e  things,  but  probably  they  were 
"queer  and  obscure"  only  to  me!  Anyway  if  he 
spent  time  reading  them  it  was  only  because  he  had 
already  read  every  standard  and  known  author. 

After  an  idle  day  a  dinner  in  town  at  the  "cafe 
de  I'Aviation"  usually  followed — sometimes  with 
the  "Cappy"  (he  hated  the  name  but  wouldn't 
admit  it)  and  Doc — often  with  some  Frenchmen 
or  other  friend  at  the  main  camp. 

The    following    are    extracts    from    Lieutenant 
Coolidge's  letters  to  his  family: 
[227] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


"Q.  seems  to  figure  In  almost  everything  amus- 
ing that  happens  to  me.  Last  Tuesday  I  got 
permission  to  try  the  little  monoplane  again. 
Thinking  to  make  a  big  impression  (because  this 
monoplane  commands  attention  wherever  it  goes) 
I  headed  straight  for  here,  our  outlying  field. 
As  I  drew  near  I  spotted  Q.  in  his  gaudily  deco- 
rated plane,  circling  around  a  toy  balloon  up 
over  the  field,  so  of  course  I  sailed  up  to  say  hello. 
Just  as  I  got  close,  however,  he  turned  his  at- 
tention from  the  toy  balloon  flipped  over  on  his 
back  and  came  diving  down  on  me  in  attack. 
That  possibility  hadn't  occurred  to  me,  but  one 
must  never  refuse  a  combat,  so  I  hastened  to 
manoeuvre  for  position.  Well  it  is  commonly 
known  that  the  mono  is  far  superior  here  to  all 
the  other  planes  in  speed,  climb  and  manceuvre 
ability,  but  as  it  was  only  my  second  trip  in  the 
little  devil  and  as  it  is  a  very  sensitive  appareily 
demanding  skilful  handling,  I  didn't  dare  to  whisk 
it  around  in  the  slap-dash  manner  that  would 
have  saved  the  situation,  and  consequently  I 
was  ignominiously  defeated  in  the  fight.  Now 
[228  ] 


"THE  JUDGIMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

my  chances  of  revenge  are  poor  because  another 
pilot  has  since  wrecked  the  little  plane.  It  is 
hard  life. 

"Yesterday  Q.  and  I  once  more  attacked  the 
Major  on  the  subject  of  getting  out  to  the  front. 
Well,  a  rather  discouraging  circumstance  renders 
it  useless  just  now,  so  there's  obviously  nothing 
to  do  but  wait  in  patience." 

July  11,  1918 
Quentin  and  I  were  not  assigned  to  the  same 
squadron.  We  are  in  the  same  group,  conse- 
quently operate  from  the  same  base  and  see  each 
other  frequently.  Let  me  tell  you  of  the  splen- 
did cmij)  de  main  he  sprang  today.  While  on 
patrol  with  some  eight  or  nine  of  his  comrades 
over  the  lines,  the  formation  became  broken  up 
in  some  quick  manceuvering.  Q.  suddenly  found 
himself  alone.  After  circling  around  a  few  min- 
utes he  saw  three  planes  in  formation  not  far  away 
and  hastened  to  rejoin  them,  falling  into  place 
behind  them.  It  seemed  a  little  queer  that  his 
leader  should  be  going  so  far  within  the  enemy 
lines,  but  he  thought  no  more  about  it  until  the 
[229] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


leader  made  a  sudden  turn  exposing  to  full  view 
upon  his  rudder — ^a  large  black  cross!  "Wrong 
again"  said  Q.  to  himself,  but  his  brain  kept  right 
on  working.  Sneaking  close  up  behind  the  rear 
man  who  either  did  not  see  him  or  supposed  him 
to  be  one  of  his  friends,  Q.  took  careful  aim  and 
let  him  have  a  stream  of  bullets  from  his  ma- 
chine gun.  The  plane  wavered  a  second,  then 
toppled  over  and  fell  spinning  in  a  spiral  like  a 
winged  stone.  Q.  reversed  and  headed  for  home 
at  full  speed  pursued  by  two  bewildered  Huns 
whom  he  gradually  left  further  behind  as  his 
little  Nieuport  roared  along.  A  quick  backward 
glance  revealed  his  victim  still  spinning  after  a 
fall  of  some  nine  or  ten  thousand  feet;  he  then 
disappeared  in  a  cloud  bank.  Isn't  that  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  true  tales  you  have  ever 
heard?  It's  doubtful  if  this  Boche  is  confirmed 
— too  far  inside  their  lines. 

Captain    Coolidge    became    one    of    America's 
leading  aces;  he  was  killed  on  October  27,  1918, 
by  a  direct  hit  from  an  anti-aircraft  gun  whilst 
[230] 


**THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

diving  through  a  terrific  barrage  to  the  rescue  of 
two  observation  planes  which  were  being  at- 
tacked by  six  German  machines. 

The  following  is  the  letter  Coolidge  mentions  as 
having  arrived  a  few  days  after  Quentin's  last 
fight: 

On  Active  Service 

Dear  Lieut.  Roosevelt:  "^"'^  "'  i^^^' 

I've  just  read  about  your  victorious  tangle 
with  the  Huns  and  my  only  regret  is  that  I 
can  not,  or  rather  could  not  be  there  to  wit- 
ness it. 

Nevertheless  I  want  to  congratulate  you  and 
wish  you  all  sorts  of  luck.  Everyone  of  the  fel- 
lows in  the  37th  are  tickled  to  death. 

There's  no  use  telling  you  that  we  miss  you, 
cause  we  do.  Everything  is  going  on  the  same. 
No  doubt  you  already  know  that  Lieut.  Davis 
has  gone  to  the  front. 

I've  got  a  new  flivver  (exciting  news  this,  no 
doubt).  And  this  is  about  all.  So  again  allow 
me  to  offer  you  my  heartiest  congratulations. 
[231  ] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


Hoping  that  you'll  get  'steen  more,  I  remain  as 

ever,  r..  , 

bmcerely  yours  "Dago  " 

Priv.  1st  CI  D.  A.  Di  Fiore  37th  Aero 

Squadron  Amer.  Forces  France 

O.  K.  Censored  by:  A.  K.  LoweU,  Lt.  U.  S.  A. 

A.  S.  S.  C. — Yes   the  boys   are   all   for   you   and 

Lt.  Coolidge  back  here.     Best  of  luck.     A.  K.  L. 

Mr.  W.  H.  Crawford,  President  of  Allegheny 
College,  gave  this  account  of  a  meeting  with 
Quentin: 

"Our  truck  broke  down,  and  I  was  too  late  for 
the  mess,  but  Lieut.  Roosevelt  came  to  see  me 
in  the  hut,  and  we  had  a  most  interesting  inter- 
view. It  was  a  wretchedly  sloppy  night,  the  lieu- 
tenant's rain  coat  was  pretty  well  spattered  with 
mud,  but  he  was  bright,  eager  and  full  of  Ufe. 

"As  we  went  out  into  the  rain  to  his  sidecar  I 
said  to  him:  'Lieutenant  there  are  large  numbers 
of  Americans  who  are  very  proud  of  the  way  the 
four  sons  of  Theodore  Roosevelt  are  acquitting 
themselves  m  this  war.'  I  never  shall  forget  how 
[232] 


"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

his  face  lighted  up  as  he  made  reply:  'Well  you 
know  it's  rather  up  to  us  to  practice  what  father 
preaches.' 

"On  all  sides  I  heard  only  good  things  about 
Lieut.  Quentin  Roosevelt  and  the  devotion  of 
his  men  to  him.  I  was  told  that  often  during  the 
winter  months  the  men  would  remain  out  in  the 
storm  and  train  under  him,  and  do  it  cheerfully, 
as  they  did  not  under  any  other  officer." 

The  following  are  extracts  from  letters  written 
to  their  relatives  or  friends  by  members  of 
the  A.  E.  F.  who  had  come  in  contact  with 
Quentin: 

From  A.  J.  Whaley: 

"Young  Roosevelt  is  as  modest  as  a  schoolgirl, 
but  as  game  as  they  make  them  in  aviation.  Keep 
tabs  on  this  game  young  chap." 

From  Lieutenant  John  F.  Wheelock: 
"As  you  know  by  this  time,  our  hopes  that 
Quentin    Roosevelt    was    only    a    prisoner    were 
[233] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


blasted  and  it  is  quite  certain  he  is  gone.  Too 
bad,  because  he  was  a  peach.  He  died  in  a  great 
scrap  it  appears,  and  was  buried  in  German  soil 
with  full  military  honors." 

From  Banner  Shull: 

"Quentin  Roosevelt  is  in  charge  on  these  trips. 
We  boys  would  do  anything  for  him.  He  always 
sees  that  his  men  are  taken  care  of  before  he 
thinks  of  himself." 

From  Sergeant  C.  A.  Gardiner,  Jr.: 
"All  those  bum  deals  that  I  spoke  of  are  plum 
gone  now.  We  have  a  real  man  commanding  us 
now,  one  of  Colonel  Roosevelt's  sons.  We  have 
only  had  him  a  short  while  but  would  do  more  for 
him  than  all  the  time  we  knew  the  other  man. 
You  get  me — don't  you — the  minute  stuff  ?  " 

I  From  Corporal  Aleck  Barlow : 

I  "It  hit  me  pretty  hard  as  I  knew  him  well  and 

used  to  look  after  his  plane  for  him  quite  a  little 

when  he  was  our  instructor.    He  was  one  of  the 

[234] 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 


best  and  finest  men  I  ever  knew.  Just  a  young 
fellow  and  full  of  life.  I  wonder  if  his  dad  is  any- 
thing like  him.  If  he  is  I  would  vote  for  him  if 
he  ever  ran  for  office  again.  All  the  boys  in  the 
37th  thought  a  great  deal  of  him  and  hated  to  see 
him  go  to  the  front.    He  was  sure  a  prince." 

From  a  member  of  Quentin's  first  "outfit," 
writing  to  some  one  whose  son  was  "missing": 

"I  guess  you  feel  about  the  same  way  we  all 
did  when  we  heard  of  Lieut.  Roosevelt's  death. 
He  came  over  with  this  squadron,  that  is  the  old 
29th  now  the  400th  and  everybody  thought  there 
was  nobody  like  him,  and  last  winter  in  Issoudun 
I  helped  him  get  his  motor  cycle  started  many 
times  when  it  was  so  cold.  He  was  a  wonderful 
fellow  and  afraid  of  nothing." 

From  Mr.  R.  M.  Washburn: 

"Yesterday,  while  an  Italian  was  cutting  my 

hair  in  a  barber  shop,  he  told  me  that  he  had 

served   overseas   with   him,   saying,   in   his   own 

words:   'He  was  afraid  of  nothing  with  his  aero- 

[235] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


plane;  a  great  operator;  was  one  of  us,  and  could 
fight,  play,  box, — do  anything;  the  goodest  kid 
I  ever  saw.'  " 

From  Lieutenant  Geo.  B.  Bailey: 

"I  had  a  great  week,  this  last  one,  flying  in 
formation.  Formation  flying  is  in  charge  of 
Lieut.  Quentin  Roosevelt,  the  son  of  our  famous 
T.  R.,  and  he  is  a  chip  off  the  old  block,  and  a 
mighty  fine  and  popular  fellow." 

From  Arthur  Weirich — Air  Service: 

"Look  at  Quentin  Roosevelt,  one  of  the  finest, 
cleanest,  bravest  boys  in  France — a  good  flyer; 
and  yet  he  is  one  of  the  first  men  to  get  it.  Every- 
thing in  the  world  waiting  for  him  back  in  the 
United  States." 

From  an  aviator  in  the  A.  E.  F.  to  his  parents: 

I  "I  am  with  a  fine  bunch  of  boys;  one  especially 

— Quentin  Roosevelt — is  a  wonderfully  fine  chap, 

and  he  keeps  his  father's  picture  up  in  his  tent  at 

[236] 


"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

all  times — told  us  It  gives  him  great  courage  to 
look  at  his  father's  face."   j 

From  Guy  Bonney,  1st  Battalion,  1st  Gas  Regi- 
ment, September  30,  1918: 

"Lt.  Quentin  Roosevelt,  the  aviator  who  was 
killed  in  the  Chateau  Thierry  and  the  son  of  the 
former  President,  was  I  believe  their  most  talked 
about  and  worshiped  aviator.  It  being  because 
he  received  all  of  his  instruction  on  this  field. 
They  had  his  old  aeroplane,  'Doc  Yak,'  which  he 
had  painted  to  his  fancy  with  this  famous  cari- 
cature, in  a  hangar  by  itself  and  it  was  an  object 
of  admiration  by  all.  They  told  us  to  crawl  in 
and  be  seated  in  it  so  we  would  have  something 
to  remember  him  by,  which  we  did.  Then,  when  I 
made  the  remark  that  I  had  been  camped  for  a 
length  of  time  up  there  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
of  his  grave,  they  certainly  did  crowd  around  and 
commence  to  ask  questions  about  it.  I  saw  his 
burial  place  when  the  Germans  had  a  cross  of 
theirs  and  inscribed  in  German  placed  over  it. 
They  called  Roosevelt  'the  enlisted  man's  friend.'  '* 
[237] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


From  an  officer  of  the  A.  E,  F. : 

"A  young  Lieutenant  in  our  Flying  Corps  who 
is  at  present  staying  here,  talked  to  me  about 
Quentin,  and  his  work  at  the  school.  He  said  that 
Quentin  was  a  sort  of  chief  among  the  instructors, 
that  he  was  a  strict  disciplinarian  but  was  loved 
by  everybody,  and  that  he  was  of  the  greatest 
use  to  the  fellows  who  were  learning  to  fly.  He 
stopped  for  a  moment  reflecting,  and  then,  half 
to  himself,  he  muttered  'He  was  a  prince!'" 

From  Miss  I.  M  Givenwilson  of  the  Red  Cross, 
stationed  at  Issoudun: 

"Though  my  heart  aches  at  the  loss  of  him  I 
cannot  but  feel  a  joy  and  pride  at  having  known 
such  a  boy.  He  has  done  such  excellent  work 
since  he  has  been  over  here.  He  showed  just 
what  could  be  expected  of  him  all  through  life. 
He  knew  how  to  handle  men,  understood  them, 
and  was  beloved  by  them.  He  was  so  valuable 
as  the  officer  in  charge  of  training  at  Field  Seven, 
that  he  was  sent  to  the  Front  with  great  reluc- 
tance by  the  commanding  officer  here." 
[238] 


"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

This  is  part  of  a  letter  written  by  Mr.  H.  A. 
INIaxwell,  of  Maiden,  Massachusetts,  to  Quentin's 
father : 

"As  a  pioneer  Y  man  for  the  camp,  he  was 
one  of  the  first  oflBcers  with  whom  I  became 
acquainted,  and  his  splendid  co-operation  as  an 
officer  in  charge  of  transportation  enabled  me  to 
make  a  record  in  building  my  first  hut.  He,  with 
a  detail  of  men,  went  to  Chattereaux,  twenty- 
seven  kilometers  distant,  and  got  the  first  piano 
that  came  to  camp.  He  also  assisted  me  in 
organizing  two  debating  clubs,  and  while  he  was 
the  Commanding  Officer  at  the  36th  Squadron  his 
personal  influence  with  the  men  will  be  long 
remembered.  For  a  short  time  they  were  quar- 
antined, and  I  recall  his  taking  them  on  a  hike 
one  afternoon.  On  his  return  he  made  a  halt  in 
a  large  field,  under  a  tree,  and  gave  them  a  good 
heart-to-heart  talk. 

In  handing  him  my  letters  to  be  censored,  I 
had  opportunity  for  many  little  chats  with  him. 
I  recall  his  putting  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  one 
day  and  saying,  'Y  man,  how  could  we  get  along 
without  you.'  I  replied,  *Ah,  go  on;  you  are 
[239] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


just  like  your  daddy.'  'Yes,  I  know,'  he  said, 
'but  I've  got  a  great  daddy.'  I  appreciated  this 
frank  and  tender  reference  to  his  father,  as  I, 
too,  am  one. 

"One  day  he  stopped  me  in  front  of  the  hut 
prior  to  its  completion,  and  said  in  his  way,  with 
which  you  are  famihar,  'Wliy  do  you  call  that  a 
hut?  I  call  it  a  palace.  What  a  great  home  for 
the  boys ! ' 

"His  kind  consideration  for  the  interest  of 
others  was  very  marked.  I  am  glad  to  have 
known  your  son,  and  I  assure  you  that  your  splen- 
did spirit  and  your  sacrifice  for  this  great  strug- 
gle to  make  the  world  better  is  a  source  of  inspira- 
tion to  every  true  American  citizen." 

Quentin's  family  received  several  touching  let- 
ters from  French  parents: 

Bizons  par  Cuzaguet  Htes  Pyrenees 
Madame:  20  Octobre  1918 

Nous  venons,  moi  et  mon  mari,  d'avoir  un  sauf 

conduit  de  48  hemes  pour  aller  voir  notre  pay 

reconqui,  et  c'est  avec  le  coeur  serree  que  nous 

avons  revue  notre  petit  villages.     Helas,  de  notre 

[240] 


"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

interieure  tout  a  ete  enlevc;  il  ne  nous  restc  que 
les  yeux  pour  picure.  La  maison  n'a  pas  trop 
souflfcT,  clle  a  etc  un  pcut  repairc,  et  Ton  peut,  jc 
croi,  maintcnant  sc  metre  a  I'abrie.  Je  me  fait 
done,  Madame,  le  plaisir  de  venir  vous  offrire 
notre  maison,  car  je  me  suis  fait  un  devoir  de 
porte  un  bouquet  sur  la  tombe  de  votre  cher 
enfant,  le  capitaine  Quentin,  qui  a  ete  enterre 
a  cote  de  notre  villages.  De  chez  moi  il  y  a  10 
minutes  pour  votre  enfant.  II  lui  a  ete  fait 
comme  il  le  meritait  une  jolie  tombe,  et  de  tous. 
C'est  pauvre  soldats  nous  avons  toujour  represente 
les  parents. 

Aussitot  qu'il  arrive  un  regiment  Americains 
tons  von  sur  la  tombe  de  votre  cher  enfant.  A 
vous  Madame  je  viens  vous  offrir  notre  maison  le 
jour  ou  vous  pouvez  venir  car  il  faut  espere  que 
cette  maudite  guerre  finira  bientot,  esperons  assez 
de  misere  et  de  ruine.  Nous  restons  a  Coulonges 
en  Tardenois,  Aisne,  rue  du  Poinson  N°  1. 

Agree,  Madame,  mon  profond  respect 

Felicie  Fourquet. 
refugiees  a  Bizons. 
a  Madame  et  Monsieur  Roosevelt. 
[241  ] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


11  Qiiai  de  Conti 

Madame,  ^^"^  ^^  i^  J""^^'^  i^is 

Permettez  a  la  mere  d'un  obscur  fantassin 
Francais  de  vingt  ans  de  venir  vous  dire  qu'elle 
partage  votre  douleur,  mele  ses  larmes  aux  votres, 
et  vous  remercie  de  toute  son  ame  de  votre  sacrifice 
en  la  personne  de  votre  cher  enfant  Quentin. 

Madeleine  Dornec. 

The  following  letters  from  Quentin's  comrades 
need  no  introduction  or  explanation: 

Lovingtoa,  111. 

Dear  Mrs.  Roosevelt:  Easter  Sunday 

A  mother  doesn't  need  to  be  told  the  kind  of 
a  man  that  her  boy  is,  and  yet  perhaps  it  would 
make  you  just  a  bit  happier  should  I  tell  you 
what  his  friends  thot  of  him,  what  a  regular 
lad  he  was.  I'd  have  written  sooner  but  was  a 
prisoner  since  July  5th  and  just  arrived  home  a 
while  ago. 

Quentin  and  I  roomed  together  at  Toul  when 
he  first  came  up  to  the  front.     One  comes  to  know 
ones  room  mate,  down  deep  inside.     There  are 
[242] 


"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

so  many  little  things  that  show  his  measure.  I 
don't  need  to  tell  you  of  his  flying,  his  bravery; 
words  seem  inadequate,  and  others  have  already 
tried  that.  I  can  only  say  that  he  was  a  brave 
man  and  an  excellent  flyer,  a  man  one  liked  to 
have  with  him  when  the  odds  were  on  the  other 
side,  and  hope  you'll  understand  what  I  say  so 
poorly.  At  night,  if  I  were  asleep  or  he  thot 
that  I  was,  he'd  tip  toe  to  his  cot,  would  be  just 
as  quiet  as  possible,  he  did  a  thousand  little  con- 
siderate things  that  do  not  seem  important,  yet 
which  really  mean  much.  If  I  were  going  out 
with  a  partner,  just  the  two,  I  know  no  one  I'd 
rather  have  had  than  he. 

He  lived  and  stepped  over  the  little  river  as 
a  brave  gallant  soldier  and  gentleman,  in  the 
way  he'd  have  chosen.  We  all  loved  him,  the 
days  we  had  at  the  front  were  among  the  hap- 
piest we'll  ever  know.  The  lad's  only  regret  was 
for  his  family,  that  I  know,  and  there  is  the  con- 
solation that  when  the  present  existence  is  fin- 
ished, we  all  shall  see  him  again  on  the  other  side 
of  the  little  divide. 

[243] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


If  I  may  help  in  any  way  please  do  not  hesitate 

to  call  upon  me.  _,.         , 

Sincerely 

Carlyle  Rhodes. 

On  Active  Service 

My  dear  Mrs.  Roosevelt:  ^     ' 

Having  lived  in  the  same  camp  with  your  son 
Quentin  Roosevelt,  I  can  not  refrain  from  telling 
you  that  I  know  he  was  especially  loved  by  the 
enlisted  men.  Of  course,  he  had  the  respect  of 
his  brother  oflScers,  but  it  may  be  gratifying  to 
you  to  be  told  by  one  who  for  four  months  was 
an  intimate  observer  of  his  life  that  he  was  gen- 
uinely popular  with  the  boys. 

Only  last  night  a  cook  in  one  of  the  squadrons 
at  this  "field"  told  me  of  Lieut.  Roosevelt  drop- 
ping in  for  breakfast.  An  earlier  schedule  was 
in  effect  and  as  he  had  been  "night  flying,"  which 
had  kept  him  up  rather  late,  he  missed  the  regular 
mess.  He  dropped  in  for  a  cup  of  coffee.  Surely  ! 
He  got  it  and  whatever  else  was  available.  Then 
he  sat  down  and  as  he  ate  he  "visited"  with  the 
[244] 


"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

whole  kitchen  force,  "just  like  a  regular  fellow" 
to  (juote  my  cook  friend  exactly. 

Tliis  sort  of  tiling  was  tjqoical  with  him.  Among 
themselves  the  men  called  him  "Teddy"  and 
many  were  the  remarks  that  I  overheard  about 
him,  by  the  rank  and  file,  full  of  honest  admira- 
tion. They  knew  he  was  courageous  and  an  in- 
telligent hard  worker,  but  best  of  all  they  felt 
that  he  had  a  real  interest  in  them  and  they  loved 
him  for  it. 

While  not  an  intimate  of  his,  he  ivas  in  and 
out  of  our  little  Hut  quite  a  good  deal  and  I  came 
to  like  his  sturdy  person  and  bright  personality. 

Believe  me,  Mrs.  Roosevelt,  I  honor  you  as 
the  mother  of  such  a  son. 

Yours  respectfully, 

Wm.  H.  Forbes 
Censored  by:  Y.  M.  C.  A.  Sec. 

Robert  G.  Fittnan 
1st  Lt.  A.  S.  Sig.  R.  C. 


[245] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


AMERICAN  AVIATION  DETACHMENT  G.  D.  E. 

AVIATION   FRANgAlSE,    PAK.    B.   C.   AM.    PARIS 

Dear  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Roosevelt: 

I  wish  to  express  my  very  sincere  sympathy 
in  the  death  of  your  son,  Quentin.  I  was  at  Is- 
soudun  with  him  for  six  months,  and  like  every- 
one liked  him  immensely.  The  last  time  I  saw 
him  he  was  doing  acrobatics  against  the  moon 
at  night,  a  feat  which  requires  more  than  ordinary 
courage,  j  I  left  the  field  before  he  landed,  and 
had  no  chance  to  congratulate  him  on  his  per- 
formance, but  I  thought  you  would  like  to  know 
of  it  as  it  was  typical  of  the  young  oflScer  I  knew 
— as  light  heartedly  courageous  as  any  man  I 
have  ever  known. 

I  know  he  died  as  he  always  flew — gamely,  for 
he  certainly  was  game  in  every  way.  He  died 
in  the  manner  all  of  us  in  this  game  would  want 
to  "get  it,"  if  it  is  our  turn  to  go — at  the  front 
in  contact  with  the  enemy.  This  is  the  best  way 
of  all  to  go. 

Let  me  express  once  more  my  sympathy.    The 
[246] 


"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

Air  Service  lost  a  splendid  officer  in  the  death  of 
your  son. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

Merian  C.  Cooper. 

HEADQUARTERS,  36TH  AERO  SQUADRON 

CAZAUX,    BASE   SECTION   NO.    2    A.    E.    F. 

From :  Enlisted  Members  of  36th  Aero  Squadron  SC. 

To:  Hon.  Theodore  Roosevelt  and  Family. 

We  the  members  of  the  36th  Aero  Squadron  SC. 
U.  S.  Army  having  served  only  recently  under 
your  son,  Lieut.  Quentin  Roosevelt,  A.  S.  Sig.  R.  C. 
who  was  in  command  of  the  squadron,  wish  to 
extend  our  sympathy  and  love  to  his  father  and 
mother  and  family,  in  the  loss  of  their  son  and 
brother.  His  example  shall  serve  to  inspire  us  in 
all  our  trials,  and  our  one  ambition  is  to  help 
avenge  his  death,  which  we  shall  always  strive 

For  and  on  behalf  of  tlw  36th  Aero 
Squadron  SC. 

Joseph  H.  Graves, 

1st  Lt.  M.  R.  C. 
[247] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


400TH  AERO  SQUADRON,  S.  C. 

AIR   SEBVICE   PRODUCTION   CENTER  NO.    2,  A.    E.   F.    FRANCE 

August  1,  1918. 

Colonel  Theodore  Roosevelt, 
Oyster  Bay,  L.  I.,  N.  Y. 

Dear  Colonel  Roosevelt: 

It  is  with  mingled  pride  and  sorrow  that  we, 
the  members  of  the  400th  Aero  Squadron  (for- 
merly the  29th  Aero  Squadron)  write  to  you  on 
the  subject  of  the  sad  but  glorious  death  of  your 
son,  Lieutenant  Quentin  Roosevelt. 

It  was  our  great  privilege  to  know  him  as  a 
man  and  a  soldier,  for  a  year  past,  since  the  time 
when  he  joined  our  Squadron  at  Fort  Wood,  New 
York,  early  in  July,  1917.  During  the  pioneer 
days  of  the  construction  of  our  immense  aviation 
camp,  here  in  France,  he  was  continuously  with 
our  Squadron,  for  a  period  of  several  months,  dur- 
ing which  time  he  fulfilled  the  exacting  duties  of 
Supply  Officer  and  of  Officer  in  Charge  of  Trans- 
portation. 

When  he  left  us  a  few  weeks  ago  to  go  to  the 
front,  having  completed  his  flying  training,  we 
[248] 


"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

were  certain  that  he  would  place  himself  where 
tlie  fighting  was  fiercest,  for  it  was  his  nature  to 
do  nothing  by  halves. 

We  do  not  exaggerate  when  we  assure  you  that 
he  had  endeared  himself  to  every  man  in  our 
organization,  by  his  manly  qualities  and  his  pre- 
vailing amiability.  He  made  us  feel,  to  the  last 
man,  that  he  was  our  friend. 

Our  admiration  for  his  glorious  end  rises  above 
our  great  grief  for  his  loss;  and  it  is  in  tliis  spirit 
that  we  write  this  small  but  sincere  tribute  to  his 
memory. 

From:  The  Enlisted  Men  op  tue 

400tu  Aero  Squadron 

^'  Jacob  Anderson 

1st  Sgt.  400th  Aero  Squadron 

Among  the  many  accounts  of  Quentin's  activi- 
ties at  Issoudun,  the  following  appeared  in  the 
Indianapolis  Star : 

"An  incident  in  the  short  life  of  Lieut.  Quentin 
Roosevelt,  the  youngest  son  of  former  President 
Theodore  Roosevelt,  that  recalls  the  sturdy  quali- 
[249] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


ties  of  manhood  of  his  father  and  his  insistent 
demand  and  fearless  fighting  for  right  and  justice, 
is  related  by  Lieut.  Linton  A.  Cox  of  this  city, 
who  lately  returned  from  overseas,  after  serving 
as  an  aviator  in  the  94th  Combat  Squadron  under 
Capt.  Eddie  Rickenbacker. 

I  "'During  the  winter  of  1918,'  said  Lieut.  Cox, 
'when,  as  flying  cadets  under  the  command  of 
Lieut.  Quentin  Roosevelt,  we  were  receiving  train- 
ing at  Issoudun  in  the  art  of  standing  guard  in 
three  feet  of  mud  and  were  serving  as  saw  and 
hatchet  carpenters,  building  shelters  for  the  1,200 
cadets  who  were  waiting  in  vain  for  machines  in 
which  to  fly,  affairs  suddenly  reached  a  crisis  when 
it  was  discovered  that  the  quartermaster  refused 
to  issue  rubber  boots  to  us,  because  the  regular 
printed  army  regulations  contained  no  oflBcial 
mention  or  recognition  of  flying  cadets. 

"'Requisition  after  requisition  for  boots  had 
been  refused  by  the  captain  in  charge  of  the 
quartermaster's  depot,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
the  boys  were  wading  around  in  worn-out  shoes 
in  slush  and  mud  knee  deep.  The  supply  of  rub- 
[250] 


"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  jPEEKS" 

ber  boots  was  plentiful,  but  the  captain  was  a 
stickler  for  army  red  tape,  and  did  not  have  the 
courage  to  exercise  common  sense,  if  he  had  any.' 

"Lieut.  Cox  stated  that  so  many  cadets  had 
become  sick  because  of  this  needless  exposure  that 
Lieut.  Roosevelt  decided  to  take  matters  into  his 
own  hands.  Going  over  to  the  quartermaster's 
depot  and  risking  court-martial,  he  demanded  of 
the  captain,  who  was  of  superior  rank,  that  the 
boots  be  issued  at  once.  Again  he  was  refused. 
Upon  being  pressed  for  a  satisfactory  reason  why 
the  requisitions  were  not  honored,  the  captain 
ordered  Lieut.  Roosevelt  out  of  the  oflSce.  He 
refused  to  go. 

"'WTio  do  you  think  you  are — what  is  your 
name  ? '  asked  the  captain,  who  was  unacquainted 
with  Quentin.  'I'll  tell  you  my  name  after  you 
have  honored  this  requisition,  but  not  before,' 
answered  Lieut.  Roosevelt.  This  led  to  a  hot  ex- 
change of  words.  Suddenly  Quentin,  being  un- 
able longer  to  control  his  indignation,  stepped  up 
and  said,  'If  you'll  take  off  your  Sam  Brown  belt 
and  insignia  of  rank  I'll  take  off  mine,  and  we'll 
[251] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


see  if  you  can  put  me  out  of  the  office.  I'm  going 
to  have  those  boots  for  my  men  if  I  have  to  be 
court-martialed  for  a  breach  of  military  discipHne.' 
"Two  other  officers  who  had  been  attracted  to 
the  scene  by  the  loud  voices  intervened,  and  the 
men  were  separated,  whereupon  Quentin  Roose- 
velt went  to  the  major  in  charge  of  the  battalion 
and  refraining  from  any  mention  of  his  recent 
controversy,  related  how  cadets  by  the  score  were 
being  incapacitated  for  service  and  were  suffering 
from  pneumonia  and  influenza  because  requisitions 
for  boots  were  not  being  honored.  The  major 
agreed  with  Quentin  that  such  a  situation  was 
absurd  and  that  immediate  relief  should  be 
granted. 

"Lieut.  Roosevelt  had  hardly  left  the  major's 
office  when  the  quartermaster  captain  came  in 
and  stated  that  there  was  a  certain  aviation  lieu- 
tenant in  camp  whom  he  wanted  court-martialed. 

j^'"Who  is  this  lieutenant?'  asked  the  major. 
]    "*I  don't  know  who  he  is,'  replied  the  captain, 
*but  I  can  find  out.' 

I  "'I  know  who  he  is,'  said  the  major.     *His 

^  [  252  ] 


"THE  JITDGINIENT  OF  IIIS  PEERS" 

name  is  Quenlin  Roosevelt  and  there  is  no  finer 
gentleman  nor  more  efficient  officer  in  this  camp 
and  from  what  I  know,  if  any  one  deserves  a 
court-martial  you  are  the  man.  From  now  on 
you  issue  rubber  boots  to  every  cadet  who  applies 
for  them,  army  regulations  be  d — d.* 

"The  boots  were  immediately  issued  and  the 
cadets  were  loud  in  their  praise  of  Lieut.  Roosevelt. 

"'This  is  just  one  instance  of  many,'  said  Lieut. 
Cox,  'that  served  to  endear  Quentin  Roosevelt  to 
the  men  under  his  command.'" 

Quentin  was  billeted  in  the  little  town  of  Mau- 
pcrthuis  during  the  last  few  weeks  of  his  life; 
and  inevitably  struck  up  a  friendship  with  the 
townsfolk,  old  and  young. 

Lieutenant  Donald  Hudson  wrote: 

"In  the  little  village  where  Roosevelt  lived 
with  his  fellow  aviators  they  have  renamed  the 
Public  Square  'Place  Roosevelt,'  and  written  it 
in  big  letters  on  the  granite  fountain.  Quentin 
Roosevelt  was  one  of  the  most  modest  of  young 
[253] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


men.  The  few  French  villagers  knew  him,  and 
honored  him  because  of  himself,  because  of  his 
Father,  and  because  of  his  fighting  brothers. 

"Over  his  billet  he  had  written  the  name  of 
Lieutenant  Thomas,  his  roommate,  then  his  own, 
and  then  'God  bless  our  home."* 

Lieutenant  A.  B.  Sherry,  another  friend  and 
fellow  aviator,  tells  how 

"Q  was  a  great  favorite  with  the  inhabitants 
of  Mauperthuis,  for  he  was  always  chatting  with 
the  old  men  about  their  affairs,  and  ever  ready 
to  listen  to  the  troubles  of  their  wives,  and  of 
the  mothers  of  the  boys  away  at  the  front." 

An  account,  whose  author  we  have  been  un- 
able to  ascertain,  reads  as  follows: 

"Quentin,  you  know,  was  very  young — ^I  know 
he  wasn't  twenty -one.  He  was  just  a  kid,  full  of 
life  and  good  spirits.  If  he  had  been  less  peppy, 
he  might  not  have  got  killed. 

"We  were  all  billeted  out  in  cottages  in  this 
little  village  of  Mauperthuis,  the  population  of 
[  254  ] 


"THE  JUDGIklENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

which  consisted  of  old  ladies,  the  average  age  of 
whom,  judging  from  ajjpearances,  was  ninety- 
three — maybe  a  little  more.  Well,  Quentin  was 
a  great  favorite,  not  only  among  the  members  of 
the  squadron,  but  with  the  old  ladies.  He  spoke 
French  very  well  indeed,  and  with  this  and  his 
cheery  ways  he  got  into  their  good  books,  or  they 
got  into  his,  whichever  way  it  was. 

"They  all  called  him  the  noble,  or  the  honor- 
able, or  the  distinguished,  or  even  the  great  Mees- 
tair  Roussefel',  and  he  received  their  greetings 
very  gracefully.  Roosevelt  was  about  the  only 
American  name  the  French  country  people  ever 
had  heard  until  President  Wilson  became  a  world 
figure,  and  to  have  a  real  Roosevelt  amongst 
them  was  something  for  these  old  ladies  to  talk 
about. 

"Young  Roosevelt  would  go  about  from  house 
to  house  and  gossip  with  all  the  old  ladies.  The 
rest  of  us  sometimes  thought  they  were  a  bit  of 
a  nuisance.  If  I  were  trying  to  write  a  letter, 
for  instance,  and  one  of  them  rushed  in  with  a 
long  story  to  tell  in  her  rapid,  colloquial,  quite 
[^55] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


incomprehensible  French,  I  would  feel  like  ask- 
ing her  to  leave  me  alone  for  a  while.  But  not 
Roosevelt.  He  would  lay  down  his  pen,  put  his 
paper  aside,  and  chat  about  the  weather  or  what- 
ever the  old  lady  wanted  to  chat  about. 

"It  would  be:  'Ah,  Madame  Labrosse,  and 
have  you  heard  yet  from  the  husband  of  your 
daughter  Blanche  ? '  'But  no,  Meestair  Roussefel', 
I  have  received  no  letter  it  is  two  weeks,  and  I 
fear  that ' 

"  'On  the  contrary,'  Roosevelt  would  say, 
*one  should  not  give  up  the  hope.  He  will  ar- 
rive soon.' 

"  'Ah,  Meestair  Roussefel',  I  of  it  hope  well.' 

"The  first  thing  that  strikes  your  eye  when 
you  go  into  one  of  these  French  cottages  is  the 
framed  photograph  of  the  head  of  the  family  in 
uniform.  Usually  it  is  the  uniform  of  1871,  and 
if  you  make  inquiries  you  will  be  told  all  about 
him.  You  will  be  told,  too,  all  about  the  other 
photographs  in  plush  frames,  and  also  the  framed 
medals  and  ribbons.  They  turn  their  walls  into 
photograph  albums  in  rural  France.  A  room 
[25Q] 


"THE  JUDGISIENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

thus  becomes  a  sort  of  family  history  in  four  big 
wide-open  pages  for  one  who  makes  inquiries — 
but  most  of  us  didn't  make  inquiries,  for  the  an- 
swer would  be  only  a  flow  of  very  rapid  French 
that  nobody  could  understand — except  Quentin 
Roosevelt.  AVhere  he  learned  to  speak  French  I 
don't  know.  And  he  would  make  the  most  polite 
inquiries,  and  the  old  ladies  would  smile  sweetly 
and  pour  out  their  stories. 

"What  interested  Quentin  more  than  all  the 
photographs,  however,  was  the  dancing  brevet 
that  hangs  above  nearly  every  French  mantel- 
piece. It  seems  that  as  soon  as  you  become  pro- 
ficient in  anything  over  there  you  get  either  a 
medal  or  a  brevet,  which  is  a  framed  certificate. 
One  of  the  most  prized  possessions  of  each  of  the 
old  ladies  of  Mauperthuis  is  a  dancing  brevet 
which  informs  the  reader  that  her  son  Henri, 
or  Claude  or  Jean  or  Paul  or  Emile,  in  Anno 
Domini  1883  or  thereabouts  has  taken  so  many 
lessons  in  dancing  and  is  competent  to  lead  a 
cotillon  anywhere  from  Versailles  to  Montpar- 
nasse.  Sometimes  you  find  an  old  lady  who  has 
[257  1 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


preserved  her  own  dancing  brevet,  qualifying  her 
to  dance  the  minuet  and  the  gavotte — for  these 
faded  documents  date  from  the  days  when  the 
new-fangled  waltz  was  not  mentioned  in  polite 
company. 

"'Ah,  what  is  it  that  I  see?'  Quentin  would 
say.  'A  dancing  brevet,  en  effet.  How  it  is  gen- 
til,  hein?' 

"And  Madame  would  cross  her  hands  on  her 
lap  and  smile,  and  after  a  '  Je  vous  en  prie'  to  ex- 
press her  own  unworthiness  of  such  exalted  favor, 
she  would  explain  that  her  Henri,  who  is  now  on 
the  Verdun  sector,  was  a  dancer  the  most  unique, 
the  most  magnifique,  the  most  charmant,  and  a 
whole  lot  of  adjectives  that  I  don't  know,  having 
no  French-English  dictionary  about  me. 

"Roosevelt  would  go  around  thus  from  house 
to  house  and  the  old  ladies  would  beam  upon 
him  and  after  he  was  gone  would  exchange  gossip 
about  him.  He  had  told  them  so-and-so,  he 
had  done  so-and-so,  he  had  praised  highly  the 
pictures  of  the  baby  of  one's  niece,  had  the  son 
of  the  most  great  Tedd-ee. 
[258] 


"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

"I  shall  never  forget  how  the  news  of  Quen- 
tin's  death  was  received  in  that  little  village.  Of 
course,  the  old  lady  who  kept  his  billet  had  con- 
sidered herself  much  honored  by  the  presence  of 
the  gentil  Meestair  Roussefel'  beneath  her  roof. 
She  was  one  of  the  oldest  ladies  in  the  village — 
her  back  was  bent  almost  double,  but  she  was 
able  to  get  around  with  a  stick  and  she  never 
missed  her  round  of  gossip  until  the  day  Quentin 
was  killed.  Then  she  shut  herself  up  in  her  house 
for  a  whole  day.  When  she  did  come  out,  she 
was  in  deep  mourning  and  her  face  was  very  sad." 

An  editorial  of  which  Quentin's  family  was 
unable  to  learn  the  authorship  was  published  in 
tlie  Hartford  Courant.  The  writer  must  have 
known  Quentin  intimately. 

YOUNG  Roosevelt's  nature 

"There  was  something  very  interesting  about 

Quentin  Roosevelt.     He  was  not  one  of  the  usual 

run  of  boys.    He  was  individual  from  those  first 

days  when  boys  begin  to  do  things  for  themselves. 

[259] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


Probably  things  looked  to  him  different  from  what 
they  do  to  the  ordinary  boy. 

"The  ordinary  boy  sees  the  world  very  much 
as  his  parents  and  the  older  members  of  the  family 
see  it.  The  regular  conventional  view  takes  hold 
of  him  early.  The  mind  of  no  healthy  boy  is  quite 
standardized,  but  its  customary  processes  are  in 
that  direction.  Little  by  little  he  absorbs  or 
accepts  the  views  of  the  generation  into  which  he 
is  born  until  these  views  are  his  own.  It  is  thus 
that  the  judgments  and  work  of  the  world  go  for- 
ward in  an  orderly  way.  One  might  almost  call 
it  the  natural  way.  It  is  not  the  business  of  the 
usual  mind,  any  more  than  it  is  of  the  usual  plant, 
to  originate.  The  main  business  of  both  minds 
and  plants  is  to  transmit,  to  maintain  the  good 
that  we  have  and  carry  it  forward.  Our  civil  and 
religious  usages  have  come  to  us  from  our  ances- 
tors, and  the  main  duty  of  most  of  us  is  to  keep 
these  usages  alive  and  hand  them  forward  to  our 
children.  This  is  the  ordinary  and  natural  law. 
It  is  so  with  the  plants,  and  it  is  so  with  the 
human  mind.  The  seed  of  wheat  is  expected  to 
[260] 


"THE  JUDGISIENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

produce  wheat  and  nothing  else,  and  it  habitually 
does.  The  human  mind  is  expected  to  carry  for- 
ward the  ancient  struggle  against  pauperism  and 
ignorance  and  sin,  and  it  usually  does.  Most  boys 
are  born  to  do  this  work,  and  they  do  it.  They 
are  often  a  little  frisky  at  times;  they  disclose  ten- 
dencies now  and  then  toward  new  attitudes;  but 
in  the  end  the  mass  of  them  are  halter-broke  and 
settle  down  to  the  job  of  carrying  things  forward 
about  as  tliey  are.  If  most  human  minds  did  not 
work  in  this  methodical  and  orderly  way  we 
would  never  get  anywhere.  The  gains  made  in 
one  generation  would  be  frittered  away  by  the 
next,  and  we  would  be  continuously  fussing  with 
the  beginnings.  The  continuous  accumulation  of 
worth-while  improvement  would  be  checked,  and 
the  momentum  of  gains  would  be  shattered  into 
fragments. 

"Quentin  Roosevelt  was  not  built  on  these 
usual  lines,  and  apparently  he  was  not  designed 
for  this  usual  duty.  He  began  very  early  to  see 
for  himself.  He  did  not  find  much  to  see  in 
human  kind,  either.  He  would  not  have  found 
[261  ] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


much  in  the  ordinary  man  that  was  new,  or  espe- 
cially interesting,  if  he  had  looked  there.  One 
sample  is  so  much  like  another  that  a  study  of 
that  sort  soon  exhausts  itself.  We  can  see  this 
in  the  writers  of  novels  and  the  writers  of  plays, 
who  have  to  put  strong  social  spices  and  sauces 
into  their  standardized  work  to  freshen  it.  This 
younger  Roosevelt  turned  to  the  primitive  and 
unadulterated  and  untrained  things,  lit  is  related 
of  him  that  he  once  managed  to  get  a  hive  of 
honey  bees  into  a  Washington  street  car  in  order 
to  take  them  home  with  him  to  the  White  House. 
The  ordinary  boy  learns  very  early  that  a  bee  is 
an  uncertain  companion.  Without  doubt  this 
Roosevelt  youngster  had  received  the  same  in- 
struction and  the  same  warning.  The  reason  that 
it  did  not  take  was  not  because  he  was  a  bad  boy, 
or  a  naughty  boy,  or  a  foolish  boy.  It  did  not 
take  because  his  own  way  of  looking  at  things 
made  him  sure  that  there  was  a  method  of  getting 
along  on  safe  terms  even  with  bees.  The  rule 
about  bees  is  a  sound  general  rule.  It  fits  the 
ordinary  human  mind  and  human  sense  like  a 
[/262  ] 


"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 

glove.  But  Quentin  Roosevelt's  mind  and  sense 
were  larger  than  the  rule,  and  he  could  walk 
through  the  rule  with  a  fair  degree  of  safety.  It 
was  the  same  with  all  the  natural  things  that  walk 
or  creep  or  crawl  about  the  earth.  These  were 
the  curious  and  companionable  things  with  him. 
One  wonders  if  they  understood  him  as  well  as 
he  understood  them.  It  is  a  fair  assumption  that 
many  of  them  did.  Harm  might  easily  have 
come  to  him  if  they  had  not.  This  boy's  look  at 
them  was  different  from  the  look  of  the  usual  boy, 
and  upon  some  mysterious  foundation  of  a  com- 
mon understanding  they  also  knew  it.  It  was  his 
way  with  them,  and  his  way  was  not  the  usual 
way  or  the  conventional  way.  It  was  his  own 
way — original,  self-confident,  and  as  honest  as 
unclothed  truth  herself. 

"That  Quentin  Roosevelt  took  to  navigating 
the  clouds  was  nothing  more  than  a  normal  un- 
folding and  growth  of  his  singular  nature.  There 
is  nothing  stranger  or  more  unlikely  in  human 
history  than  that  man  should  be  able  to  fly 
through  the  air,  and  yet  he  is  now  doing  this  every 
[263] 


QTJENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


day.  The  originating  mind  takes  to  this  sort  of 
thing  naturally — it  is  exactly  in  its  line.  Unfor- 
tunately many  of  these  minds  are  only  half  minds. 
They  carry  so  much  of  the  usual  conventional 
crust  that  something  goes  wrong  with  them,  and 
sooner  or  later  they  fall  smashing  earthward. 
We  feel  sure  that  Quentin  Roosevelt  was  not  of 
this  sort.  It  took  the  fierce  shock  of  actual  war 
to  knock  him  out.  We  do  not  believe  that  his 
nerve  broke  or  quivered  for  one  instant.  If  his 
body  were  hit,  or  if  his  machine  broke,  that  would 
be  different.  Smitten  physically  or  mechanically, 
he  of  course  was  helpless.  The  fates  had  it  in 
for  him.  But  the  mind  of  him  went  down  intact, 
unshaken,  and,  so  far  as  was  possible  in  that  hur- 
ried rush,  with  the  calm  outlook  of  the  soul  that 
is  unafraid. 

"It  was  a  great  waste,  aside  from  all  personal 
considerations,  because  human  minds  that  spon- 
taneously and  inevitably  see  things  for  themselves, 
outside  of  the  clamps  of  convention,  and  almost 
in  honest  unconsciousness  of  such  clamps,  are  too 
infrequent  not  to  be  missed  when  the  human  life 
[264] 


"THE  JUDGMENT  OF  HIS  PEERS" 


goes  out  of  them.  Bacon  quotes  one  of  the 
fatliers  as  saying  that  old  men  go  to  death,  and 
death  comes  to  young  men.  It  is  so,  and  has 
been  so,  all  through  tliis  great  war.  Quentin 
Roosevelt  died  in  the  bloom  of  his  youth  and 
with  untried  powers.  By  nature  he  was  made 
for  greater  things  than  even  the  honorable  death 
of  a  righteous  cause." 


[265] 


CHAPTER  VI 

VERSES 

There  were  many  verses  written  in  memory  of 
Quentin,  and  this  book  would  be  incomplete 
without  a  short  selection  from  them. 

A  GROUP  OF  POEMS 

{To  Quentin  Roosevelt) 

SPRING   ON   LONG   ISLAND 

You  used  to  think  that  some  day  you  would  hold 

Some  dear  and  splendid  space 

Of  shining  time  to  waste 

Upon  a  spring-decked  highway's  beaten  gold; — 

Hearing  birds  sing,  and  mute  and  marveling 

Stoop  to  a  harebell's  grace — 

Free  of  wind-voices  and  their  breathless  urge. 

To  see  a  green  vine  fling 

Its  brave  young  sinews  upward  to  the  eaves; 

Or  watch  brown  brothers  soar,  and  dip,  and  merge 

Dun  coats  with  madder  nests  among  the  leaves. 

And  there  would  be  deep  noons,  and  shares  of  bread. 
And  water  from  a  brook 
Where  you  could  bend  and  look 

I  2GQ  J 


VERSES 

Down,  at  gay  clouds  that  shimmered  overhead; — 
And  from  a  pool  would  come  the  whispering 
Of  blue  flags  in  a  nook  .  .  . 
The  stream  would  quaver  like  an  ancient  crone 
(Hid  in  its  bubbling  spring) 
Weaving  her  magic  in  the  sparkling  air — 
The  feet  of  water-dancers  on  the  stone 
Or    brook-nymphs    laughing    through    their   dripping 
'         hair  .  .  . 

That  road  would  wind  like  ribbon  in  the  gleam 

Of  a  white  moon  hung  high 

Out  of  your  wing-won  sky — 

And  you — a  mote  upon  a  silver  seam — 

While  hedgerow  blossoms  made  a  bordering 

Of  moon-lace  frilling  by. 

And  a  bird's  voice,  like  a  violin, 

Poignant,  would  lift  and  sing 

Haunted  by  'cello  warblings  of  its  mate; — 

There  would  be  night  scents,  sweet  and  sharp  and 

thin, 
Binding  you  wordless  to  that  song  elate  .  .  . 

"never  before  have  the  violets  blown" 

Never  before  have  the  violets  blown 

Purple  as  exquisite; 

Seeing  they  borrow  it 

From  a  wide  sky  his  pinions  have  torn; 

[267  1 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


Yet  must  they  stand  all  mute,  unquestioning 

Where  glad  green  Joy  is  writ — 

Knowing  they  fold  a  sleeper  who  forgets 

Against  warm  pulses  of  dear  violets 

His  part  in  vaunt  and  bacchanal  of  Spring. 

Never  before  have  the  poppies  flared 

Scarlet  as  radiant; 

A  pomp  as  triumphant — 

Fire  from  the  stars  his  wings  have  dared; 

Nor  may  they  glow  with  brave  ^souciance 

And  yet  no  Vision  grant — 

Knowing  their  share  in  valor  .  .  .  they  unfold 

Their  silken  banners  for  heroic  mold — 

Their  crimson  badges  for  the  breast  of  France. 

Never  before  have  the  wind- voices  J^Jneathed 

In  their  dim  whisperings 

Echoes  of  wings.  .  .  . 

Faint  from  far  zones  where  suns  hang  unsheathed; 

Nor  shall  they  tell  but  half;   adventiw^some 

For  further  journey ings — 

Knowing  him  wind's-brother-earth  defyitig. 

Gaunt  winged,  they  call  him  to  the  flying 

Shouting  of  star-trails  and  a  sapphire  dome  .  »  . 

THE   DARK   LEAVES 

Oh,  Voyager,  who  swept  the  blazing  gol^ 
Of  wheeling  planets  in  immensity: 

[268] 


VERSES 

Whose  wing-beats  cleft  the  silences  that  hold 

Their  echo  yet,  in  stark  serenity: 

For  you,  oh  Wreathed !  let  an  altar's  light 

Flame  holily,  above  the  largess  heaped — 

New  corn  and  grapes  that  sudden — in  a  night — 

Were  reaped.  .  .  . 

Glad  one !  the  shining  gifts  you  offered  up  .  .  . 
Youth's  corn  in  silk,  and  Youth's  longevity: — 
The  sparkling  vintage  of  Youth's  brimming  cup — 
Youth's  broken  sword  to  spell  divinity: — 
The  hushing  of  Youth's  laughter,  peal  on  peal — 
The  dreams  of  Youth  that  garlanded  the  days — 
The  wings  Youth  clapped  upon  a  sandal's  heel 
The  cymbaled  measure  of  Youth's  choric  ways. 

Trailer  of  stars,  a  gleaner  in  the  dusk 

Lifts  the  Dark  Leaves  from  red  austerity: 

Gathers  your  Arum  hlies  from  the  husk 

Of  trampled  WTack; — ^j^our  lyric  purity — 

The  chaunts  you  sang  to  baffle  cold  and  tire — 

(Reckon  them  priceless  since  Youth's  pipe  is  mute) 

The  still  warm  ashes  of  your  sacred  fire — 

The  glowing  round  of  your  scarce  bitten  fruit. 

Strange,  you  should  lie  a  sleeper  in  high  noon  .  .  . 
Clothing  yourself  in  wreathed  dignity? — 
Your  hablimental  trappings  folded:  soon 
Poppies  will  trumpt  with  scarlet  clarity: — 

[269] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


(Witness  this  plumage  .  .  .  these,  his  wings- 
Reckon  the  giving  by  the  dreamless  eyes  .  .  . 
Are  these  not  meet  for  altar-gifts — these  things  ? 
Seeing  the  Dark  Leaves  speak  him  Heavenwise  .  .  .) 

AVENUE   QUENTIN 

There  are  no  palm  trees 

Along  the  way 

Holding 

Their  plumage  against  the  blue. — 

Only 

The  clean  voices  of  the  winds. 

And  the  footsteps  of  Youth, 

Call  to  him 

In  comradeship  from  the  wide 

Highway. 

Echo  with  crisp  brittle  resonance 

Against  the  frozen  rime 

Of  the  sweep, — 

Where  frosted  bitter-sweet  scatters 

Redly. 

But  at  night — 

A  slim  young  shallop  moon  sails 

Boat-wise 

Upon  his  old  courses. 

Pushes  a  silver  prow  through 

Cloudrifts — 

The  lapping  gauzes  of  morning. — 

[270] 


VERSES 

Hailing  the  veiled  houses 

Of  sUirs  .  .  . 

Nebulous,  hushed,  and  unanswering. — 

Here! 

Spring  will  come  greenly. 

With  lush  grasses, — 

And  violets  stand  in  little  groups 

By  the  wayside — 

Gazing  up  at  you 

Out  of  their  deep  eyes  as  if  to  say 

"He  is  yonder 

Where  we  are  bluest ! " 

But 

Only  in  the  spring  time  is  one  directed 

So  unassumingly, — 

By  small  pages  in  purple  smocks. 

In  July 

The  field  armies  in  France 

Leap 

In  serried  ranks  to 

The  colors ! 

Scarlet  shoulder  to  scarlet  shoulder. 

The  Avenue  Quentin's  poppy-guards 

Blazon  you  on  with 

Chivalry ! 

Always ! 

The  answer  of  Youth 

[271  ] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


To  Youth  !— 

(Glad  youth  with  his  laughtCT 

And  daring !) 

The  call 

Of  one  road  to  another — 

Of  a  slim  shallop  moon's  far  sailing. — 

Who 

May  reckon  the  strange  ports  she  touches? 

The  way 

Of  her  track  through  the  cloud  rifts — 

Through  the  lapping  gauzes 

Of  morning.  .  .  .     Speaking  shut  houses 

Of  stars  ...  — 

For  in  July — 

The  gleaming  zeniths  of  space 

Hurl 

Uncharted  worlds  to  the  colors ! 

Flaming  planet  to  flaming  planet. 

An  Avenue  Quentin's  meteor-hosts — 

Blazon  you  on 

With  chivalry ! 

— ^Lelia  Miller  Pearce. 

YOUNG  ROOSEVELT  IS  DEAD 

Young  Roosevelt  Is  dead — and  I,  whose  son 

Is  just  a  little  boy,  too  young  to  go. 

Read  with  bewildered  eyes  the  tales  recalled 

Of  pranks  the  little  White  House  boy  had  played ! 

[272] 


VERSES 

Just  such  things  as  ray  own  docs  every  day 
With  bugs  and  beetles,  teasing  with  his  snake, 
Or  starthng  all  about  him  with  his  bees — 
Exasperating  tricks — that  win  our  souls ! 

Just  such  things  none  could  think  of  but  a  boy. 
From  blurring  page  I  turn  to  touch  ray  own, 
For  somehow  he,  too,  died  in  that  far  fall 
Of  one  who  typed  Araerica's  "sraall  boy." 

From  blurring  page  I  turn  to  touch  ray  own — 
To  lift  his  face  unto  the  lustrous  stars 
That  syrabolize  the  glory  of  a  world — 
And  once  raore  dedicate  my  country's  son. 

From  blurring  page  a  sterner  nation  turns 
Because  he  typed  the  milhons  she  has  borne 
Within  her  fertile  womb  since  long  ago 
She  mated  with  the  freedom  of  the  world. 

From  blurring  page  graybeards  with  palsied  hands 
May  dream  again  of  wondrous  youth  that  flings 
All  life  into  a  single  burning  flame 
And  Uves  its  future  in  a  moment's  deed. 

Men  who,  perhaps,  have  lost  the  zest  for  life 
May  find  it  in  a  boy's  keen  zest  for  death, 
When  young  life  found  it  sweet  to  fight  and  die 
If  only  Liberty  in  peace  might  live. 

— Eleanor  Cochran  Reed,  in   The  Times, 
New  York. 

[273] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


THE  STAR  OF  GOLD 
Quentin  Roosevelt,  France,  July  14,  1918 

With  the  American  Army  on  the  Vesle,  Wednesday,  August  7  (by 
A.  P.). — On  a  wooden  cross  at  the  head  of  a  grave  at  the  edge  of  a 
wood  at  Chamery,  east  of  Fere-en-Tardenois,  is  this  inscription : 

"Lieutenant  Quentin  Roosevelt,  buried  by  the  Germans." 

— Newspaper  iiem. 

A  Viking  of  the  air  was  he 

Who  sailed  his  fragile  plane 
Through  vast  uncharted  spaces  blue, 

As  Norsemen  sailed  the  main. 
He  met  the  foeman  and  he  fought 

Unflinching  in  the  sky, 
And  died  as  his  brave  sire  would  wish 

A  soldier-son  to  die. 

The  Prussian  airmen  wrought  his  grave 

And  laid  him  down  to  rest. 
His  shroud  the  leather  tunic  wrapped 

About  his  gallant  breast. 
The  guns  a  thunderous  requiem 

All  day  above  him  sound, 
America  in  spirit  mourns 

Beside  his  lonely  mound. 

When  twilight  over  No  Man's  Land 

A  veil  of  purple  weaves. 
An  escadrille  of  stars  appears 

[274] 


CHftNQeP     "TO    CiOuT>. 
From  the  original  cartoon  by  John  T.  McCiilchcon,  presented  to  Colonel  Roosevelt 


VERSES 

Above  the  hangar's  eaves 
With  one  that  speeds  on  wings  of  light 

In  ether  fast  and  far; 
The  AlHed  aviators  say 

'Tis  Queutin  Roosevelt's  star. 

— Minna  Irving. 

THE  TOWN  CALLED  AFTER  HIM 

The  town  of  Bismarck,  Pa.,  has  changed  its  name 
to  Quentin. — Vide  Newspapers. 

Quentin,  yonng  Quentin  Roosevelt 

Has  a  town  called  after  hira ! 
Some  way,  as  we  read  the  word 

It  makes  the  eyes  grow  dim. 

How  brave  they  were,  how  young  they  were! 

Our  boys  who  went  to  die ! 
Children  who  played  in  field  and  street 

So  short  a  time  gone  by. 

Now  reach  the  stature  of  the  stars! 

Ah,  none  of  us  can  say 
How  many  Heavenly  places 

Are  named  for  such  as  they. 

But  romping  children  here,  through  years 

Secured  from  horrors  grim. 
Will  s})cak  the  name  of  Quentin 
In  the  town  called  after  him. 

Mary  Stewart  Cutting. 
[275] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


TO  QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 

They  sounded  taps,  young  soldier  of  the  free. 
And  heaped  memorial  flowers  above  your  breast. 

In  France  across  the  North  Atlantic  sea. 
Where  you  are  lying  quietly  at  rest. 

On  soil  in  bondage  to  your  mortal  foe 

You  fell.     Foes  laid  you  in  a  soldier's  grave ! 

Today  above  you  Yankee  bugles  blow — 

French  tears,  French  flowers,  rain  upon  the  brave. 

We'd  laughed  at  all  your  pranks  and  boyish  wit 
And  scarce  could  think  you  grown  to  man's  estate; 

The  shot  that  brought  you  down,  the  nation  hit; 
O'er  all  the  land  hearts  leaped  with  grief  and  hate. 

But  you ! — 'twas  thus,  brave  heart,  you'd  choose  to  go; 

If  come  death  must,  you'd  have  him  ride  a  cloud; 
And  when  you  went,  'twas  gaily,  that  I  know, 

As  well  befits  the  gallant  and  the  proud. 

Above  your  breast  the  Yankee  bugles  blow; 

French  hands  are  twining  wreaths  across  the  sea; 
And  somewhere  your  brave  heart  is  joyed  to  know 

That  all  about  your  grave  French  soil  is  free. 

— Harry  D.  Thompson. 


[276] 


VERSES 

A  MONSIEUR  LE  PRESIDENT  TIlfiODORE 
ROOSEVELT 

HOMMAGE   DE   RESPECTUEU8E   ADMIRATION   d'uNE 
ALSACIENNE   DE   FRANCE 

Ne  pleiirez  pas  I'oiseau  qui  s'est  brise  les  ailes 
Dans  le  rude  combat  des  saintcs  liberies, 
Dans  Tenthousiasnie  fier  des  amities  fideles, 
Des  serments  renoues  de  nos  fraternites. 

Notre  sol  que  son  sang  a  rougi  dans  sa  chute 
Nous  en  est  plus  sacre,  i)lus  chcr  pcut-etre  encore, 
Et  nous  avons  senti,  mieux,  a  cette  minute 
Se  resserrer  nos  liens  par  le  don  de  sa  mort. 

Ne  pleurez  pas  I'oiseau  fauche  par  la  raitraille 
Dans  I'essor  radieux  d'un  r6ve  eblouissant, 
Qui,  tout  vibrant  encore  de  I'ardente  bataille, 
A  pris  vers  Tinfini  libre  son  vol  puissant. 

Votre  fils  est  tombe  dans  une  juste  guerre, 
Combattant  vaillamment  un  infdme  oppresseur, 
Dans  I'h^roique  elan  du  sacrifice  austere, 
De  son  pur  ideal  sublime  defenseur. 

II  est  des  morts  pour  qui  le  regret  est  I'offense, 
Ne  pleurez  pas  c^lui  qui  fit  tout  son  devoir. 
Que  votre  deuil  soit  fait  de  fiert6,  d'esp^rance, 
Levez  plus  haut  le  front,  les  yeux  pour  mieux  le  voir. 

[277] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


Car  c'est  lui,  maintenant,  le  vrai  chef  de  famille, 
Toute  sa  jeune  gloire  a  rejailli  sur  vous; 
Votre  nom,  c'est  le  sien  qui  sur  vos  t^tes  brille, 
Etoile  au  clair  eclat,  resplendissant  et  doux. 

A  votre  cceur,  pourtant,  la  blessure  est  saignante. 
Plus  grand  le  vide,  helas,  laisse  par  le  depart, 
Obstinement,  partout,  une  tombe  vous  haute. 
Que  par  dessus  la  mer  cherche  votre  regard. 

Dans  un  sol  envahi  quelques  jours  prisonniere. 
La  voici  libre  enfin  des  ennemis  chasses, 
Et  nos  drapeaux,  baignes  dans  sa  sainte  lumiere, 
Comme  un  m^me  drapeau  s'y  tiendront  enlaces. 

Elle  sera  fleurie  avec  des  fleurs  de  France, 
Fleurs  de  notre  pays  meurtri,  mais  delivre, 
Heureuses  de  jeter,  cri  de  reconnaissance, 
Leur  beauts,  leurs  parfums,  sur  ce  terra  sacre. 

Et  noire  fime  fervente  y  veille  tout  enti^re. 
Car  nous  gardons,  au  fond  du  coeur,  fid^ement, 
Dans  notre  souvenir  plein  de  recueillement, 
Parmi  nos  plus  chers  morts,  une  place  tr^  chere 
Au  mort  que  vous  aimez,  votre  fils,  notre  fr^re. 

— Charlotte  Schneegans,  14  septembre  1918. 


[278] 


VERSES 


ON  THE  SCREEN 

Within  the  darkened  playhouse  as  I  sat 

Sunk  in  a  mood  of  heavy  discontent 

Because  existence  was  so  difficult: 

The  things  undone — the  money  I  had  spent — 

And  other  Uttle,  petty,  tiresome  cares 

Weighed  on  my  mind,  until  I  scarce  would  glance 

At  all  tlie  moving  scenes  before  my  eyes, 

When  suddenly  I  looked — and  there  was  France: 

France !     With  her  scarred  and  desolated  fields, 

Sad  wastes, — yet  piteous  poppies  blossomed  there — 

And  row  on  rows  of  the  unnumbered  dead 

And  crosses,  crosses,  crosses  everywhere 

And  at  the  last,  one  solitary  cross 

Apart,  aloof  from  earthly  vanity 

And  on  the  cross  stood  Quentin  Roosevelt's  name: 

Rare  sacrifice  to  crass  humanity ! 

Then  did  I  count  myself  as  nothing  worth 
And  all  my  little  cares  so  poor  and  mean — 
It  must  have  been  a  Great  Photographer 
Who  let  me  see  myself  upon  the  screen ! 

— Elizabeth  Jacobi. 


[279] 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


THE  ONGOING 

"  Loose  me  from  tears  and  make  me  see  aright 
How  each  hath  hack  what  once  he  stayed  to  weep— 
Homer  his  sight,  David  his  little  lad." 

He  will  not  come,  the  gallant  flying  boy, 
Back  to  his  field.     Somewhere  he  wings  his  way 
Where  the  Immortals  keep;  where  Homer  now 
Has  back  his  sight,  David  his  little  lad; 
Where  all  those  are  we  dully  call  the  dead. 
Who  have  gone  greatly  on  some  shining  quest. 
He  takes  his  way.     That  which  he  quested  for. 
That  larger  freedom  of  a  larger  birth, 
Captains  him,  flying  into  fields  of  dawn. 

He  has  gone  on  where  now  the  soldier-slain 
Arise  in  light.     Somewhere  he  takes  his  place 
And  leads  his  comrades  in  imtrodden  fields. 
For  never  can  these  rest  until  our  earth 
Has  ceased  from  travail — never  can  these  take 
Their  fill  of  sleep  until  the  Scourge  is  slain. 
And  so  they  keep  them  sometimes  near  old  ways 
In  the  accustomed  fields — now  flying  low, 
Invisible,  they  cheer  the  gallant  host, 
Bidding  them  be,  as  they,  invincible. 

Still  he  leads  on,  the  gallant  flying  boy ! 
4mong  the  "great  good  Dead"  he  steers  his  boundless 
course. 

[280] 


VERSES 

Now  where  the  soldier-poets  pass  in  light — 

Where  Brooke  and  Seeger  and  the  others  keep — 

The  singing  Slain,  the  peerless  fighting  Dead — 

He  takes  his  briUiaut  way;  or  where  those  lately  come 

Our  flying  Great,  Mitchel  and  all  his  men, 

Wait  him  in  large,  warm-hearted  welcoming. 

He  will  come  never  back !     But  we  who  watched 
Him  take  the  upper  air  and  steer  his  boundless  path 
Firmly  against  the  foe,  we  know  that  here 
Death  could  not  penetrate.     Life  only  is 
^\^lere  all  is  life,  and  so,  before  us,  keeps 
Always  the  vision  of  his  faring  on 
To  unpathed  fields  where  his  great  comrades  wait, 
And,  joyful,  take  him  for  their  captaining — 
The  brave  Adventurer, 
The  gallant  flying  Boy ! 

— Mary  Siegbist. 


^81  ) 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 


Lord  Dunsany,  in  a  letter,  said:  "I  was  told 
once  before,  quite  recently,  that  Captain  Quen- 
tin  Roosevelt  had  one  of  my  books  with  him, 
even  sometimes  up  in  the  air.  It  was  a  touching 
thing  for  an  author  to  hear.  I  don't  know  what 
return  I  can  make  for  that,  but  I  would  like  to 
offer  the  enclosed  sonnet  to  you." 

A  DIRGE  OF  VICTORY 

Lift  not  thy  trumpet.  Victory,  to  the  sky. 
Nor  through  battalions,  nor  by  batteries  blow. 
But  over  hollows  full  of  old  wire  go 
Where  among  dregs  of  war  the  long-dead  lie 
With  wasted  iron  that  the  guns  passed  by 
When  they  went  eastwards  like  a  tide  at  flow: 
There  blow  thy  trumpet  that  the  dead  may  know 
Who  waited  for  thy  coming,  Victory. 

It  is  not  we  that  have  deserved  thy  wreath: 
They  waited  there  among  the  towering  weeds: 
The  deep  mud  burned  under  the  thermites'  breath 
And  winter  cracked  the  bones  that  no  man  heeds: 
Hundreds  of  nights  flamed  by:  the  seasons  passed. 
And  thou  hast  come  to  them  at  last,  at  last. 

Dunsany, 
Captain  Royal  ImiiskilHng  Fusiliers. 
[  282  ] 


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